coffee stains || dreamnotfound

twenty eight - dream

my body squirms in the heat of my room, and i stare blankly at the ceiling, waiting for morning to arrive. my eyes are heavy with exhaustion, yet refuse to close for long enough to let me rest. it's frustrating, but there's a good reason for my insomnia tonight, besides the awful flordian heat keeping me awake; george is on the flight back, and he hasn't left my head since i confessed to him a few days ago.

so i lie awake, unable to sleep because the anxieties that comes with thinking about somebody other than yourself is far too much for a good night's rest. the atmosphere of my room is almost humid, the air thick from the harsh weather. although, i note the possibility that all this thinking is no good, my mind is running laps around the sole thought of the boy- and maybe that's adding to the heat.

a ghostly breeze travels through the air, and i shiver in response but it doesn't help much, as the warm air soon circulates around the room once again, and i'm left feeling a mixture of uselessness and concern. deep down, i worry that george will change his mind during his journey to florida, and he'll arrive only to let me down, just like i did to him.

is this just some sick joke to get back at me?

what if he's not even on the plane at all? he's in england, smirking to himself, knowing how worked up i'm becoming over him. his last message wasn't really to tell me he's on his way- but rather to lead me into a void of false hope, knowing i'll be here waiting for him; it's cruel.

and this is why he didn't say anything back, because he doesn't feel the way i do anymore. maybe he did once, but as my feelings for him grew, his shrunk until they were nothing. my confession to george was just an act of embarrassment, i shouldn't have said anything, or i should have said it sooner, and i've missed my chance. has this whole thing has become one-sided and unrequited, or are my thought just becoming too much?

my head hurts and i can feel my hands beginning to tremble, sweat gathering on every surface on my body as my stomach twists. i feel sick, and i'm the only one to blame. empty words replay in my mind, nothing behind them anymore. do you want me in the ways i want you? i can't take it, it needs to stop. those words sit mocking me, saying, 'if only.'

the grip my hands hold on the locks of my hair tightens as i forcefully squeeze my eyes shut, i can feel my eyes beginning to water from a mixture of how hard i'm pulling at my hair and frustration. of course i do. i can't breathe, it's all too overwhelming; my thoughts, and i wish they'd stop. i'm going to throw up.

but that uncomfortable pit in my stomach isn't worry, it's regret, and some form of devastation. tell me it's not true. if only i had figured this out sooner, i would have told him i felt this way before he left for england, when he still felt the same. but now?

now, i'm stuck in this constant state of overthinking.

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word count: 570
*in editing*
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dream is stuck alone with his thoughts. L.
also hi i love u guys<3