In my bedroom
I finally managed to hang the dream catcher K gave me that dreamy afternoon. A good sign, I guess. It means that I am on the mend.
It says on the tag that it “allows the good dreams to pass through the web into the sleeper, but makes bad dreams become entangled in the web, where they perish at the first light of dawn”. It’s something he brought from his country, a part of him maybe that he wanted me to have.
It was a sweet gesture at that time. The stupid girl was “kilig to the bones” though I did not act too eager when he handed it across the table. The events after prevented me from taking it out of my drawer until two mornings ago.
After I found out that I had been crying in my sleep, I stopped downing the Decolgens. After all, what I was after was a dreamless sleep and not nightmares (daymares, in my case) that cause tears.
Instead, I read. And watched as many DVDs until I fell asleep on my laptop’s keyboard. I wrote poetry and it’s funny how artistic I get when I’m depressed. Thank you K for inducing this depression. I am writing again because you broke my heart.
I asked Karla if I had been crying in my sleep again. She checked the medicine drawer and finding out that I did not take anything from her last count, she said “no”.
So the dream catcher worked. It kept frightening dreams at bay. No more dark circles, no more tear stains on my face.
Thanks again, K. Funny you had to give me that dream catcher to keep yourself out.
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