The Crack

Before it got really bad, it was just that sometimes a color was off. The sky would be yellow, the water red, or people’s skin a shade of blue. It’s not like it bothered me, though. I think I just thought it was all normal.
I can’t really remember when it all started, though I think it was about three years ago. I would have been seventeen. That’s when things started to hurt, and I got scared. I could never really manage to tell reality and my dream world apart, for the two of them co-existed together as they slid over top of each other.
There were two visions I could never seem to get rid of, though. The others were just fleeting. The girl in the mirror, the blue boy who lived under the bed. You’d have a conversation, and then poof, they’d be gone. Those visions were all right. They were almost like a child’s fantasy, really.
The real problem was the angels.
I’d see angels everywhere. Some were branded onto my skin like a moving tattoo, never staying in one place. You know how books or pens just fall randomly and you think you’ve bumped them? I’d see angels pushing them off the table and laughing with happy voices.
One used to live in bowls, and one morning she rose above the cereal and said, “You’re damned.” That’s all the angels would say to me. You’re damned. I can still hear them in my sleep sometimes.
I used to see you with wings. I don’t know why. Probably because I was in love with you. I still am. I guess I saw those wings on you because that way, it would make sense for my feelings to not be returned. If I’m in love with an angel, it would make sense for you not to be in love with a human.
I can remember that day the visions got worse. I don’t want you to blame yourself. I don’t want you to fall into self-hatred. None of this was your fault. It’s nobody’s fault.
I remember I was waiting for the bus and you sat down beside me. I couldn’t tell the difference, I’d never had a hallucination of you before. Wings or flowers blooming on you, sure, but this was different. You were so solidly real. Even your voice sounded the same.
You said, “Hey Alex, do you know I love you?” in the same blunt manner as always. And seriously, it was like a dream come true. We’d been holding hands and then you got up, let go and walked directly into the oncoming semi.
That was the first time. I’ve seen you slit your wrists, I’ve seen you drowning, murdered, jumping, and always you’re saying you love me with your last gasping breath. It all just blends together.
I told you I don’t want you to blame or hate yourself. It’s not your fault this happened, or that I’m in love with you. You’re just my psychotic obsession, sweets. I just wish that you were in love with me. You already know all this, though.