sing me to sleep, I’ll see you in my dreams, waiting to say, “I miss you. I’m so sorry.” —“Lullabies”
The only place Blaine feels whole anymore is in dreams.
In dreams Kurt is always there, bright-eyed and vibrant and smiling, the way he used to be. In dreams the past never happened, and Blaine doesn’t cry himself to sleep every night, wishing for another way. In dreams there’s never a need for the bottle, or the pills inside them. There are no tears, no regrets. There is no beginning, and there is never an end.
In dreams they’re happy, and every night Blaine tries his hardest to hold onto the memory of them, their golden warmth in his sea of cold blackness. But each morning it’s almost impossible as it fades from his mind, the impossibility of catching smoke, of holding onto a handful of water for very long. He wakes up, and it’s reality, bleak and oppressive and harder to live as each day goes by.
So he dreams.
