New Year's Resolution

Dear Me,

We've made it through another year... and yet again, we find ourselves wiping the worst of the past year -which is most of it- off our feet on the metaphorical doormat of the new year. There were many times this year when we honestly didn't think we'd make it through in one piece- or at all- but we've scraped through with a Pyrrhic victory that leaves us exhausted and barely functional.

As you know, we don't believe in New Years resolutions; as our lives should be non-stop quests for self-improvement and growth, and choosing just one arbitrary day every year to evaluate the past year and decide where to go next puts us on a slippery slope down to complacency and decadence. It is our duty to be our own harshest critics... because if we don't genuinely want to develop and be better people, then what's the point of life at all?

It is no secret that I am not the biggest fan of you. We've been forced to put up with each other, which we've been doing reluctantly for the better part of three decades; and although at times we've found means to stay out of each others' ways and co-exist peacefully, that was never the norm. When you were the only person I was regularly in touch with for the better part of two years living alone abroad, we both had to adapt and tone down the mutually destructive behavior... but now that that's over, we fell back into the same ancient pattern we thought we'd moved past.

There can be no progress as long as there are two equal forces acting in opposite directions... and if we don't make a conscious decision to change this dynamic, then New Year's eve of 2034 (if we somehow manage to stay alive that long) will still see us embroiled in a vicious civil war where there are no winners. We owe it to ourselves to rise above this bitter rivalry and start on the path to inner peace.

This is not going to be easy- very few people are actually at peace with who they are. Being loved by someone is an amazing feeling, but it pales to insignificance next to accepting and loving yourself- inner demons and flaws and all. That is not to say that we should accept the bad and not try to change it; but rather that we should strive to accept that we are, after all, only human... and that no matter what we do, we are fundamentally flawed and in need of constant improvement.

That said, I believe we can make an exception just this once and decide on a New Year's resolution; because this one is necessary and significantly overdue. We've pretty much tried every other way already... so starting January 2018, I will actually attempt to hate you less and perhaps even grow to accept you. I've toyed with this idea previously but nothing ever came of it... and it's about time I gave it a real shot.  Although I think you are not currently worthy of love or praise, I will do my absolute best to improve you where I can and accept you where I can't... and in return, I expect that you will stop making it so easy for me to hate you; by being open to change.

Like it or not, we're stuck together for the long haul... so until that damn clock stops ticking, I vow to take the advice of someone who once meant the world to both of us and just learn to love you, you ugly son of a bitch.

Help me do it... make me proud for once.

Love (eventually, I hope),
Mahmoud Bondok

Dafuq Did You Just Read?

Mr. Pookie bear looked sad.

"Why are you sad, Mr. Pookie bear?" Asked Mr. Tibbers the bunny in a childish, high pitched voice.

Mr. Pookie bear pouted and turned the other way.

Mr. Tibbers turned around to face Mr. Pookie bear again, a look of concern on his furry, little face.

"Are you sad because Mr. Sun is leaving? Silly Mr. Pookie bear, Mr. Sun will be back again tomorrow!"

"But I don't like Mr. Moon!" Replied Mr. Pookie bear, stomping his feet unhappily.

Mr. Tibbers considered it for a few seconds, then a great idea popped up in his head.

"I know what would cheer you up, Mr. Pookie bear! Would you like a huggie wuggie?" Asked Mr. Tibbers, spreading his fluffy little arms wide as if to embrace Mr. Pookie bear.

"I would love a hug, Mr. Tibbers! You are a great friend!" Said Mr. Pookie bear, his dislike for Mr. Moon completely forgotten. He hugged Mr. Tibbers under a beautiful rainbow as all the other little animals of Marshmallow land awwwwwww'ed.

"Would you like a hug too, Mr. Angry Man?" Asked Mr. Tibbers as he broke away from his hug with Mr. Pookie bear.

"No I don't want a hug, you little shit" Replied Mr. Angry Man angrily as he paced around looking for the exit, like he did every day.

"Don't you love us, Mr. Angry Man?" Asked Mr. Tibbers, his eyes shining with tears. "We love you, but you're always trying to leave us!"

Mr. Angry Man didn't respond, preferring to pay attention to the task at hand.

"You are too angry, Mr. Angry Man. You should be happy, like us!" Piped up Mr. Pookie bear.

"Yeah? Am I the one who was throwing a fucking tantrum 5 seconds ago because the sun is setting? Fuck off, you hypocrite" mumbled Mr. Angry Man, more to himself than to Mr. Pookie bear... but Mr. Pookie bear overheard him and fell back into a sullen silence as he remembered that Mr. Moon was coming.

"We tell you every day, Mr. Angry Man... there is no door to leave Marshmallow land! But why do you want to leave? You can have all the fun in the world here, with us!" Mr. Tibbers was crying, and Mr Pookie bear was pouting, and Mr. Angry Man felt very close to committing adorable mass murder.

That was when Mr. Yummywuzzles hopped his way into the conversation. He was a shapeless blue blob who liked to pretend he was a cloud and spoke almost exclusively in cloud-related puns.

"I can feel my friends getting upset! Why are you raining on their parade, Mr. Angry Man?"

Mr. Angry Man was on his knees, too busy looking under bushes and smiling flowers for a trapdoor; an exit sign; a welcome mat... any possible hints for how he could get out of Marshmallow land. He ignored Mr. Yummywuzzles's question.

Mr. Yummywuzzles floated over to Mr. Tibbers and Mr. Pookie bear, hugging each of them in turn as everyone in Marshmallow land except Mr. Angry Man awwwwww'ed again. Then he turned on Mr. Angry Man and said: "Mr. Angry Man, just because a cloud is covering Mr. Sun doesn't mean it will be dark forever! I should know, I'm a cloud!"

Mr. Angry Man stood up, wandered over to the gummy bear waterfall and looked down. It was a very high drop, and he wasn't sure whether the laws of physics in Marshmallow land were realistic or not... the last thing he wanted was to impale himself on a chocolate tree.

Mr. Yummywuzzles gave an aimless hop and said: "Just like clouds can change their shape, you can change and be happy too!"

Mr. Angry Man was getting really angry.

"Mr. Angry Man should know that it's rude to ignore someone... clouds have feelings too!" Said Mr. Yummywuzzles.

"YOU AREN'T A CLOUD, YOU STUPID LITTLE BLOB! YOU'RE BLUE! HAVE YOU EVER SEEN A BLUE CLOUD? CLOUDS ABSOLUTELY DON'T HAVE FEELINGS BECAUSE THEY'RE INANIMATE OBJECTS... NOW LEAVE ME ALONE BEFORE EVERYONE ELSE STARTS HAVING TO CALL ME "MR. CHAINSAW MURDERER MAN!"

Mr. Fizzlebum must have heard the commotion, because he suddenly appeared behind Mr. Yummywuzzles.

"Why are you so angry, Mr. Angry Man!" Asked Mr. Fizzlebum, who was a sentient banana. No one knew who had created and named the various creatures of Marshmallow land, but evidently they didn't give a single fuck.

Mr. Angry Man rounded on him, all sense of composure lost.

"BECAUSE YOU CREEPY LITTLE ASSHOLES ARE FREAKING ME OUT! I'VE BEEN HERE FOREVER AND NO ONE HAS EVEN TRIED TO HELP ME GET OUT OF HERE! YOU CALL ME MR. ANGRY MAN SO YOU CLEARLY KNOW THAT I THINK THIS STOPPED BEING FUNNY MONTHS AGO, BUT NO ONE WILL LIFT A HAND OR A PAW OR WHATEVER FUCKING BLOBS HAVE FOR HANDS TO HELP ME!

AND ANOTHER THING, WHY ARE YOU ALL DUDES? I DON'T GIVE A SHIT IF YOU'RE ALL GAY AND HAVE DAILY DEPRAVED BDSM ORGIES AS MR. MOON WATCHES ON AND MASTURBATES, BUT WHAT DID YOU DO WITH ALL THE FEMALES? DO YOU HAVE THEM CHAINED UP SOMEWHERE? DO YOU EAT THEM? ARE YOU ALL SEXLESS LITTLE STUFFED ANIMALS WHO JUST HAPPEN TO CALL EACH OTHER "MR"? WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS PLACE AND WHAT ARE YOU! IS THIS AN ACT OR ARE YOU ALL GENUINE SATURDAY MORNING CHARACTERS FROM A BAD CHILDREN'S SHOW?"

Mr. Fizzlebum turned black as old bananas are wont to do, and he burst into tears... but Mr. Angry Man wasn't done.

"I HAVEN'T EATEN ANYTHING SINCE I GOT HERE BECAUSE EVERYTHING HERE HAS A SMILEY FACE, A HIGH-PITCHED SPEAKING VOICE AND A STUPID NICKNAME! DO YOU EVEN HAVE THE CONCEPT OF FOOD HERE, OR DO YOU SUSTAIN YOURSELVES THROUGH HUGS AND SUNSHINE? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW HUNGRY I AM? I COULD EAT A HORSE RIGHT NOW!"

As if on cue, Mr. Angry Man heard the flap of wings... and out of nowhere, a bright white unicorn with rainbow-colored wings landed at his side as the animals of Marshmallow land chanted "Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay, Mr. Booboo's here!"

Mr. Angry Man had to wonder if maybe he should have wished for a teleportation device instead.

Mr. Booboo trotted over to the crying animals of Marshmallow land and neighed. They all gathered round and stared at him intently. He snorted and whinnied and kicked his rear legs, and all the animals started nodding as they gradually smiled happily again. Before long, they were actively jumping in their places; too excited to stand still.

Mr. Angry Man waited impatiently, silently fuming as he wondered what that was about.

Mr. Tibbers then frolicked his way -yes, he frolicked- to Mr. Angry Man, and said: "The animals of Marshmallow land have decided to help you, Mr. Angry Man! We will help you find the only way out of Marshmallow land so you can be happy again!"

That was a new and entirely welcome development. They'd insisted for months that there was no way out of Marshmallow land... but apparently he just needed to make a big enough scene to force them into helping him.

He straightened up and puffed out his chest, satisfied that things were going his way.

Mr. Tibbers was staring at him expectantly... then he asked him the most unnecessary question in the history of the universe:

"Are you sure you want to leave Marshmallow land? You can never come back! We would be ever so sad to see you go!" Mr. Tibbers looked downcast as he said that. Mr. Angry Man wondered why these creatures loved him so much when he was just an angry man constantly yelling at them. He took a deep breath, then replied:

"Yes, I'm sure. Get me out of here"

Mr. Tibbers called out to the other animals: "You heard him, friends! Let's go to the Bubbetty Wubbetty Tree!"

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!" Replied all the creatures of Marshmallow land.

Mr. Angry Man was confused.

"Why are we going to a tree?" He asked Mr. Tibbers as all the animals started lining up in single file behind him because of course they were going to dance their way to the Bubbetty Wubbetty Tree. Mr. Tibbers stood at his back, while Mr. Booboo cantered his way to the front of the procession, presenting him with an unwanted prime view of his massive, muscular horsey buttocks.

"Because the only way out of Marshmallow land is to climb the Bubbetty Wubbetty Tree, silly!" Replied Mr. Tibbers happily. "Follow Mr. Booboo, he'll take us all there!"

And so, the most saccharine conga line of all time made its way across Marshmallow land to the Bubbetty Wubbetty Tree. They walked for hours; passing open fields with grazing pink cows; lush green hills dotted with sheep; rivers of molten chocolate and a marshmallow bouncy castle. They marched to the beat of the Bubbetty Wubbetty song, which Mr. Pookie bear was singing somewhere to the back:

One, two, three... one, two, three
I Wuv you, Bubbetty Wubbetty Tree
You are the prettiest Tree in the world to me
There's no other sight I'd rather see...
Than the beautiful Bubbetty Wubbetty tree!

That was it. That was the whole song. He had to listen to that on repeat the entire time; sung by a choir of shrill, squeaky, out-of-tune voices accompanied by a cacophony of cheers from the various Marshmallow land creatures they were passing by. Words could not describe how paint-drinkingly mad the song was driving him, but it was a small price to pay for freedom...

He just had to make it to the tree, and then all would be good with the world again.

"Patient presenting with a suspected cocaine-induced coma, prep the ER!"

Huh? Mr. Angry Man looked around him, but no one seemed to have heard that... then out of nowhere, he felt a stab of sharp pain in his head, more intense than anything he'd ever felt in his life. He could feel his heart racing, and it damn sure wasn't because of the Bubbetty Wubbetty song. What was happening?

Mr. Booboo finally stopped next to a massive tree and reared. They were there.

Mr. Yummywuzzles glided over to him and smiled. Then he yelled: "He's tachycardic, get me 6 mg of adenosine, STAT!"

OK, what the hell was going on?

He didn't have time to ponder, because that was when a vicious kick from Mr. Booboo threw him flat on his back as he desperately tried to catch his breath.

"He's going into respiratory failure, I'm going to need to intubate him"

All the animals of Marshmallow land were surrounding him now, still gleefully singing the Bubbetty Wubbetty song... Mr. Fizzlebum was tying his hands together, while Mr. Yummywuzzles and Mr. Pookie bear restrained him as Mr. Tibbers tied his legs together. He kicked and he struggled, but it was no use; they were much stronger than they'd appeared... and when he tried to scream for help, Mr. Fizzlebum stuffed a florescent green rag so deep in his mouth that he almost choked on it.

"We're losing him, I need a crash cart in here!"

They dragged him over to a particularly sturdy-looking branch of the Bubbetty Wubbetty Tree... and he understood what was happening.

There was no way to leave Marshmallow land... alive.

"He's flat-lining, starting CPR! Hand me the defibrillator... One, two, three... CLEAR!"

A jolt of jarring pain coursed through his body, and he lay there spasming uncontrollably... he was effectively paralyzed.

Mr. Fizzlebum propped him up on his knees as Mr. Yummywuzzles fit the noose around his head and threw the other side of the rope over the branch. Mr. Angry Man kneeled meekly beneath the tree, having completely lost his ability and will to fight; if he had to die, he'd at least die with dignity... or as much dignity as you could have while being hanged from the Bubbetty Wubbetty tree in Marshmallow land by a unicorn named "Mr. Booboo".

Mr. Booboo, who it was now clear was their leader, took the rope in his mouth and started to back away, slowly and painfully hoisting Mr. Angry Man into the air by the neck.

"ONE, TWO, THREE... CLEAR!"

He flailed weakly in the air as his neck was subjected to intense, unbelievable strain. It seemed to hold for a few seconds... then it snapped under the weight of his body.

"ONE, TWO, THREE... CLEAR!"

His body hung there limply as the animals of Marshmallow land sang themselves into a frenzy... panicking, oxygen-deprived and quickly losing consciousness, his last memory was the sight of Mr. Fizzlebum making eye-contact with him and touching himself.

"He's gone... I'm calling it. Time of death: 9:53 PM"

Mr. Angry Man had finally left Marshmallow land.

The Sandman's Closure

He woke up in a silent, colorless world of bright white.

Rubbing his eyes and shielding them from the glare, he looked around and found... absolutely nothing. It took him a few seconds to realize -with a twinge of panic- that he was literally the only thing in that world; right, left, up and down were all the same hazy, featureless fog, and he could see no solid objects whatsoever. He couldn't help smiling at the irony that a claustrophobe such as himself would also somehow feel agoraphobic.

"Am I dead?" He asked himself... but it didn't seem to make sense; it was entirely too peaceful a setting for what he imagined his afterlife would be like.

After considering it for a few seconds, he noticed the fog again... and something clicked in his head; he was dreaming. It was probably just a new way for his subconscious to amuse itself by toying with him overnight. Looking down, he found that -in a bizarre plot twist that went against the timeless laws of dreamland- he was actually dressed... quite sharply; in a tailored designer suit, no less. That did not make sense either; his subconscious specialized in traumatizing dreams... why was it suddenly so eerily toothless and not as intent on embarrassing him? He could only assume that the fun part of the dream had yet to begin.

He tried moving his body, and it seemed to move normally... so he had no handicaps or deformities that he could immediately notice. He tried speaking, and his voice was his own... albeit musical and serene with an angelic, other-worldly echo. Stranger and stranger- he usually sounded like a drowning cat in his dreams. The final confirmation that he was dreaming came when he tried jumping; the jump itself was not note-worthy... but the lack of gravity certainly was. He hovered in mid-air for a few seconds, processing this new development... then, as any self-respecting 7 year-old-at-heart would do, tried to will himself to fly... and he did! It was of course much less impressive when there were no land markers he could use to judge his height and speed; but screw that! The moment he'd been waiting for since he was 4 had come at last; he was finally soaring upwards in his dream, and damn it if he wasn't going to enjoy every minute of it.

Higher and higher and higher he flew, but the sky was literally the limit; no matter how much higher he climbed, the nothingness stretched on and on with no end in sight... so he decided to switch tactics, and swerved sideways... if there was nothing to be seen upwards, he would fly to the east indefinitely, and he was bound to find something eventually.

Soon enough he realized that he wasn't even flying; there were no winds bashing his face and making his eyes water... and his flight was not physically taxing; he was not stretching his arms like Superman or holding on to a hammer a la Thor or flapping his wings like a bird- his was a more elegant flight; more mental than physical... he was levitating as Magneto would.

Three comic book references in the same thought? Yep, his subconscious was back to embarrassing him again.

"Let it do it its worst in my dream where no one can see it", he reasoned.

After he flew for what felt like hours, he suddenly began to see something outlined on the horizon... and it took him a few more minutes of flying to figure out what it was. It was so bizarre that he dropped out of the sky for a few seconds before he regained control and brought himself to a halt... then he flew towards it with all the more vigor. A few minutes later found him at the eye-level of a colossal statue of himself which must have been at least a hundred feet tall; raised on a solid gold platform twenty feet high. His every facial feature was sculpted to perfection with a loving, almost supernatural attention to detail; he saw every beauty mark; acne scar and wrinkle exactly where he'd expect to see them in a mirror. His hair was waves of molten gold; glowing with a bright sheen, and his eyes were bottomless pools of peaceful, sparkling blue, in vast contrast to the wild but fierce black beard that covered the skin above his full lips as well as his chin and sharp jaw. Gliding downwards, he could see that his body was given just as much attention as his face had been; his shoulders, arms, back, neck and chest muscles were all exactly how he'd remembered them; except even more pronounced and impressive.

I will spare you the details from the waist down... but it was more of the same, really.

Mouth agape, he floated to the base of the platform and stood there wondering what could be happening... then he looked up again, which was a grave mistake because the statue was only wearing a scaled bronze skirt and nothing underneath.

Shaking the image from his head, he turned around... then gave a musical and serene girly shriek of surprise with his angelic, other-worldly voice.

His ex-girlfriend was sitting in a throne at the base of the gold platform... and the throne could only be described as a ten-foot, solid-gold replica of his lap.

She was sitting in a ten-foot golden throne made of his lap.

Her ten-foot throne was his golden lap; and that same ten foot golden lap throne was right next to a hundred foot statue of himself on a twenty foot-high solid-gold platform.

What was WRONG with him?

Was his ego really so massive?

Yes... yes it was. His ego was huge, but his subconscious was a gigantic douchebag even bigger than the statue for bringing his ex-girlfriend into this. She was dressed in an elegant, flowing black dress with a golden crown studded with diamonds, sapphires, rubies and amethysts nestled amongst her curls. She was also holding an actual, honest-to-God golden scepter.

"What's with all the gold?" He mused.

She looked down on him with a glare full of pride and chilling coldness... but there was also a silent appeal in her eyes, mixed with another emotion he could only guess at.

"What's with all the gold?" He asked.

"Tell me why you're here" She demanded, completely ignoring his question. Her voice was the same as he'd remembered it, but she also had the same musical and serene, angelic, other-worldly echo. He didn't like that... that was his thing.

"Why I'm here? You're the one who showed up uninvited... This is my hundred and twenty foot monument to my greatness, thank you very much. Get your own." That sounded too childish in his musical and serene, angelic, other-worldly voice, and he internally resolved to speak more like an adult.

"I have no time or patience for this. You will answer my question." She met his eyes and replied fiercely, in a British accent for some reason.

The answer he'd intended to give her was "Why are you speaking like Queen Cersei?", but what came out was "Because I owe you the truth".

Wait, what? "How did she do that?" He wondered, again outraged at his sadistic subconscious.

"I see." She said in response... then she hesitated for a second before saying:

"Well, let me start. I have some unresolved feelings for you. I don't know what to do about them, so I wanted to talk to you so I can finally move on." He knew then what that other emotion he'd seen in her eyes was.

He held his silence, waiting for her get to the point.

"Do you have something to tell me?" She asked impatiently.

"Not really. Did you know we could totally fly here?" He asked innocently.

"Fine, have it your way." She replied, then she looked him in the eyes again and forcefully continued:

"I would like to know why things did not work out between us. Talk." She demanded again with unflinching eye-contact.

Weirder and weirder... he was beginning to notice a pattern. It seemed that whenever she asked something of him, he was compelled to answer her truthfully. He noticed this in the split second window before he spilled his guts:

"In two words? Clinical depression. People think that if someone's laughing and seems to be having a good time, then they're feeling fine and nothing's wrong with them. You fell for that trap; I've always hinted at my depression but we never really talked about it much, so you didn't give it much thought... and it's easy to miss it, because depression doesn't always show. It isn't all about sleeping all day or being in pain or getting suicidal thoughts... it is sometimes, on really bad days, but you know what it's like for most days? Nothing. Like this place; which is probably why it's all my subconscious could dream up. Complete, mind-numbing nothingness.

You can spend weeks feeling no joy from anything you do. All food tastes like canned beans on toast; every shiny new thing you buy; every friendship; every success in life; they all feel like minor, temporary blips of happiness on an eternal flat-line of "meh". You never feel motivated to see anyone or to do anything or have the energy for it, anyways... and all you can do to distract yourself from the nothingness is to obsess about your job and your hobbies which you grow to enjoy less and less as you start to ponder the meaning of life and whether or not it's even worth it.

And these are the good days... I'll let you figure out how bad the bad days can get. They're unpredictable, savage, impossible to foresee and can be triggered by the tiniest of stimuli.

How do you think I could have still been a perfect boyfriend when I'm always drained by this constant war which has been raging inside my head ever since I hit puberty?

And then there's my self-hatred and tendency to relentlessly sabotage every healthy friendship or relationship in my life because I literally don't know how to be happy... yeah that's a particularly fun little fact I should probably mention, too... but we actually talked about this one, so it should come as no surprise.

Then we get to my anxiety and my inability to let things go. Whenever something's bothering me, I have to talk about it and I have to talk about it NOW. I'm normally a very diplomatic person, but it's difficult to keep it up when you have anxiety; the unresolved feelings of uncertainty are death to me... I always have to know where things stand, so when we had our fights and disagreements, it was difficult for me to let things slide or wait for a more appropriate time to bring them up again; I'd always say what I felt immediately when I felt it because I literally can't not do it, and that's how things kept getting worse... and I fully take the blame for this part.

My point is that it was easy for you to love me when I was being a knight in shining armor... but when you put me on a pedestal, it was impossible for me to live up to your expectations; and when I started being human, I fell from grace. I was no longer the perfect demigod who could do no wrong, and you couldn't handle that."

She was silent for a few minutes as she considered his words, then she replied accusingly:

"You know what? You're full of shit. You put yourself on that pedestal, not me. You stormed into my life and swept me off my feet literally out of nowhere, and always pretended to be a stupid white knight even when you weren't. How could I have known the real you when you were hiding him the entire time? You say that it's impossible to notice depression... so how was I supposed to know? How was I ever supposed to guess all of these issues if you never talked to me about them? You always pretended to be unshakable or unbreakable or whatever it is you used to call yourself, and you always changed the subject whenever we got close to talking about any of this. I understand now that you weren't withdrawing because you were trying to hurt me or because you didn't love me anymore; but you have to understand that it really seemed that way at the time. You should have talked to me... I would have understood." her voice was reproachful, and her eyes were shining.

"I know... I don't know how to show vulnerability and that's what killed us, wasn't it?" He wondered aloud.

"Yes... but it wasn't just you... it takes two to tango. I should have been more persistent... if I'd pushed you to talk to me, who knows? I think we were both just too proud to try." She concluded sadly.

They stood there -well, he stood there while she sat there in the ten foot golden lap throne- for a few minutes; then she asked the question he'd known was coming:

"Do you still have feelings for me?"

Eye-contact. SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SERIOUSLY FUCK MY SUBCONSCIOUS FOR MAKING ME ANSWER THIS ONE.

Unless... because that was his subconscious, then maybe he could wriggle out of it. He gave it a go.

"I will only answer if you answer the same question". He replied, folding his arms.

It worked! It seemed like his subconscious couldn't answer on her behalf because it didn't know her answer; and since she couldn't answer either then he didn't have to. "I'M A GENIUS!" He thought.

He only got to bask in the glow for about three seconds before she destroyed his theory by saying:

"I think if any two people were ever truly in love, they never really move on. They do, but not all of them does... do you know what I mean? I think if we're born with let's say 10 love units, past loves permanently occupy some of those so there's less and less of us there for every new relationship until we finally wear down and become cynical when they run out. This doesn't mean I'm in love with you, but that a part of me will probably always love you and there's not much I can do about it."

Damn it, damn it, DAMN IT... now he had to answer the same question.

"I... think yours is a question with... many possible answers..." He struggled to fight the urge; tried to think about anything else... but it was too strong; he would either break or choke, soon enough.

"OK, enough of this. I can read your thoughts and I know how you feel. I've heard what I needed to hear, and I finally have closure. You can go." She finished dismissively.

What? You can read my thoughts? How can you read my thoughts? Is my subconscious actively trying to destroy me?

"Who says it's your subconscious? This is not your dream." She replied mystically.

"I think it's time I took you off that pedestal now"

An irresistible force was pulling him away. As he was yanked out of the dream, he saw her descend the crumbling ten foot golden lap throne as it collapsed, while visible cracks spread across his statue's torso with a thunderous clap as it fell apart all over the golden pedestal.

He woke up with inexplicable feelings of loss, but couldn't for the life of him remember the reason... then he shrugged and went back to sleep.

She woke up with a hopeful smile... she was free at last.

*************************

Now read it again knowing that it's her subconscious and things will make more sense.