I am taking your dreams because you don’t want them.
You don’t want him. Your small child.
You let him out to play with me, for a while.
But you say you you are always happy.
You say things are perfect.
You say our friendship is forever.
Then you start to back away.
You take music first: I can’t sing along.
You stop teaching me your instrument.
You stop me from listening to practice.
You sing to me on my guitar
but you never listen.

You keep me from your friends.
You keep me from your family.
You don’t want to say
that you love me as a friend.

The connection dies as you hack parts away.

Only the beach is left.
Your small child plays and laughs with me
at the beach.
And that is gone too.

I am hurt. I block the connection for a year.

A year is gone.
You won’t come back.
You can’t come back.
I do not want you back.
But I open the connection.
I want your small child
and all the monsters you keep hidden.
Bears and monsters, come.
Come with the small child and play.

Is it unethical to steal a soul
if it is not loved?
If it is not listened to?
If it is trapped and frightened?

I am stealing your dreams because you don’t want them.
And I do.

___________________

I look for dream stealer myths. Not a succubus. Nor a dream weaver. Something else. Maybe something that is not textbook. Or a kitsune?

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: textbook.

I took the photograph on North Beach yesterday.