Tuesday, March 16, 2010

my fish

i was five years old when i first started dreaming of fish.

i made wishes on them, sometimes. and 'don't ever leave me,' i told them. 'please don't.'
i know it sounds insane but i could swear - and still do - that they promised me they'd never leave. that they'd carry my dreams into eternity and hold me. keep me from falling. drowning.

'be my gills when i can't swim anymore,' i told them. 'be my gills.'

and they were.

i was nine when my parents had problems.

that night, i didn't understand. that night, i cried until the sky was painted in crimson lights and it was morning and the sun found me on my bed, passed out and tear-stained. that night, the world stopped spinning for five whole seconds and i could swear the heavens were looking down on me and me alone. a spotlight was on me and all i could do was lay there and cry and wonder what i had done wrong.

but the fish were still painted on the insides of my mind and i wasn't alone i swore i wasn't alone.

'hold me,' i told them. 'hold me.'

and they did!!


i was fifteen when they left me.

or maybe it was that i left them. that i realized the world was not so simple. and imaginary friends do not exist and people will rip you into shreds. that the world will give you a million reasons to be bitter and cynical and only one to have hope. and if you can find that one, you are lucky.

you are beyond lucky because the world is coated in fog and you have your lighthouse while the rest of the world gets to be lost at sea.

but my fish were gone.


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