Life as an Extreme Sport


Dreams last night. This morning, really. Dreams that kept me wrapped in the warm cocoon of bed, snuggled with a furbeast on either side of me. Dreams as warm and inviting as being buried on a cold morning under a down comforter.

Time had passed. People had changed, but instead of for the different, it was back together. Missing, longing, laughter. There were other people involved, but they were cast off – perhaps cruelly – in favour of one another. Like magnets, we couldn’t stay apart. There was a warmth, clicking.

Typing it all out sounds absurd, ideal. And I know my mind was playing with ideals, and there was really never a time or person like that (for either person). But your memory has a way of softening the edges and making things more…perfect.

I can pick out what year (age) the ideal came from.

It’s funny. I’m spending so much time with people lately, and yet I have become aware of how lonely I am. And it’s not the other people – the other people have opened up so much to me, I know so much about them. It’s me. Something in me that keeps me from taking that step, sharing that information.

Do you know, I did overcome that once, recently. And it felt like I was tearing a bit of myself out. And now it’s weird, that there’s someone I see three to four times a week, who knows these intimate details about me, knows more about me than most of my friends do. It makes me skittish. Like there’s information out there that can be held against me, used against me.

Typing this out, I have to laugh – trust issues, much? But why should I trust people? It’s not like I’ve had terrible much proof that it’s a worthwhile endeavor.

All I see when I look in the mirror is broken shards.