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She said that she couldn’t go to sleep- she was afraid of what she’d dream.

I needed to know what this meant, so I slept really close to her in hopes that I could enter her mind. I was her, as a young girl. I had a big house and a loving family. I had lots of toys and everyone adored me. I was always the prettiest girl in the room.

As I dreamt, I tried to remember to ask her , when I awoke, what she saw so disturbing about these things that made her sleep world so much better than her waking life.

I woke to find her crying across the room.

“Your dreams were beautiful” I said as I approached her.

“Those weren’t my dreams.” She said. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, I won’t tell if you won’t.” I said, and then I woke up.

Alone, no girl, just dreams of a girl who dreams dreams not her own.

This is why I drink.