The first vivid dream I'd had is one I've had many times. The first time, I was 8 years old and it most likely horror movie induced. Everything was almost entirely black and white and I was a young adult. Standing In a small apartment alone, I located the door to leave. Walking outside, I witnessed the apocalyptic aftermath of a massacred parade. Victims lay slain in the street and included my family. The only color present was their crimson blood that washed the sloped ground. They were thrown atop one another, ruined. Broken. I screamed and awoke in tears.

I see you. Through your own gates and defenses, I see you. For all that you are. With the knowledge of all your faults and circumstances I am in awe of you and the raw, unnurtued essence of you. You stand so far from me for fear that I might want you...and I do. I want you and all the disaster you bring. I want the impending doom of you because I know that I will love you even if it means giving you every breathe in my lung so that yours may breath. I will love you if it means I shall drain my body of every ounce of blood so that your heart may continue to beat inside your chest. I have to ensure that you will never need for sustenance, warmth, or love never again in this lifetime or hereafter. You must know that I was only granted existance to nurish and cherish you. Just let me show you that you don’t have to be afraid anymore. Let me show you what it means to be free of anguish and solidarity. Let me touch your heart with ever fiber of my being until we are one. I can love you, if only you would just let me.

It’s a wedding, where not a soul knows that your best friend, the groom, was the first gay love you ever had and he married a woman in spite of you. The recepetion feels like standing in a mosh pit, being bludgeoned and beaten but no one ever seeing you. Bleeding internally, you pretend to be the Best Man and hand over the ring which should have gone on your own finger. He looks you in the eyes and sobs softly in remorse. The onlookers believe him to be emotional for his new bride but they could never be more wrong. You watch him vow his undying love for her the way he promised you after basketball practice in 11th grade. His father congratulates him for finally settling down and becoming the man he always wanted him to. His family accepts him now. But he will never accept himself. not the way I accepted him. The look he gives her is not love, it is mourning. He hopes she will end a part of him he doesnt want to accept. In the same room full of loving family and accepting different fates, we are both alone.

I regret most of all, not sharing my experiences. I had amazing experiences that I couldn't explain or capture because I witnessed them alone. I wish I wouldv'e shared them with a loved one that way someone else couldv'e truly understood how much it changed me as a person. Some of the more wonderful things I experienced were all that kept me from a worse path I had almost chosen to take. I also regret not sharing horrible experiences as well. I had been abused and so internally scared and broken and told no one. For years I harbored my pain like a relentless refuge and it crippled me. No one knew how dark and tortured I had become and when they finally found out I had perfected ho to hide it. I regret that I didn't let others in.