fish out of water

i swear, i promise, on my unborn children, i dont *want* to be mad at you. really you need to believe this. you came to me in my dream last night after months of silence. so crystal fucking clear you were, standing in front of me, telling me over and over there was nothing you could do. i was giving you that look, you know, *that* look, that look i give you when i think you are totally full of shit, that you are trying to pull yet something else over, trying to make us believe that whatever story youve concocted was actually true! and you'll let that shit go on for days if you could, then when i finally start believing you out of nowhere you turn around and say,

"nah, i was just kidding. how could you believe that anyway??"

because i wanted to believe every fantastic story you told.

you were so damn convincing, coloring even the more boring, most mundane shit so bright like it was alice in fucking wonderland. your eyes lit up, and you would get so happy and excited once we realized, damn, we've been duped again! and we'll stand there like, yo, that shits not funny yo. for real.

and we'll laugh anyway.

so needless to say, in my dream, i thought you were full of it. of course you could have done something more. i mean, how am i to really believe that someone as big as you fucking are can't turn himself over in bed?

you were pacing in the dream, shifting in your feet. i could tell you were being "for serious" this time. there was a small gathering in your honor on a small bridge during this carnival. there were boats made up as floats, like you would see in the macy's parade, but on water, coming towards the bridge.

look at this shit, you said. i dont want any of this. why the fuck they wasting their time?

it was a carnival to celebrate you, but nobody was happy. everyone was still grieving your death. then a bunch of kids came out with rifles and started shooting at us, trying to kill us. it was implied that this was how we could stay with you. someone shot ryan, i carried him, begging him to breathe. you were gone, and it was hectic. you werent there but i knew you were "there," you just couldnt do anything. it was all out of your control. but i knew you were still there. i felt you watching.

i woke up then. just a few minutes ago. i was wheezing and it was hard to breathe. like i was jogging across the bridge the way you used to. in my dream you were so clear and so real... but there was absolutely nothing you could do to save us from the chaos that was right around the corner from the carnival.

every once in a while, daniel catches me. i try to hide it now, i wont front. i dont want anyone to see me hyperventilating, sobbing, tears streaming down my face. like now as i write this while everyone else is still sleeping. when im doing dishes, or folding laundry, or taking a shower. times like this i just cant control it, i just cant hold it in anymore. i try to push it down and make it go away, but i miss you so much - it just takes over.

so, i know what you mean, james, about things being out of our control.

that there's only so much you can do.

and like you said, there's only so much you can do.

maybe im still looking for something to blame, is all,

because im finding it so hard to believe that you are dead. gone. laying in a grave that i have to visit since they day they put your body in the ground.

instead i'll ask daniel to take me to coney island, to the aquarium.

you love your fish, and now i know why.