A heart lost at sea.

His name is J and I don't know him well.
His existence in my dream may be a
completely different one than how he
acts in real life.

We are walking in the same corridor,
the community pool open to us past
midnight, lanterns illuminating the
still waters.

I settle close to the deep end,
keeping an eye on the lucidity,
wishing to mimic its sense of peace -
of identity.

Then, I begin to pace.
And pace.
And pace...

only to find you doing the same,
sleep an unnecessary luxury.
Eventually, I stop walking the
perimeter of the building, hoping you
will eventually stop and see me.

And, you do.

Is it selfish of me to want someone to
acknowledge the tears before they fall?
Before desolate thoughts crystalize?
To wish for someone to lean against me
for support, without uttering a single word?

I was asked the other day if my new
home finally felt less lonely,
and I realized that I used the wrong word.

I'm not lonely;
I'm alone,
and somehow, the difference matters,
causing feet to stagger,
a mind to spiral.

I don't need someone like you
to feel like I belong.

I just want to be heard
when my mind tries to drown me,
when I have nothing to offer up
but silence,

and you somehow accept that,
and accept me.

_________________________

Written while listening to "Oh My Dear" by Tenth Avenue North, a song I recently found again that used to give me a great deal of comfort:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X06soMH92HU