Save me

So the other day I had a dream at night. In it, I had a therapist who was ... Sylvia Plath.

I remember she posing with her arms crossed, always with a smile on her face, looking at me. Far away, but yet so close, because it made me feel everything - every little thing - would be all right. It had to be all right.

The look she had was also so ironic, as if she were laughing at the things I cry for. Not because she's mean, but because she's strong and I'm so weak. Yes, she's gone. But do you have any doubts it's due to how strong she were?

Whenever I look at her picture on my wall, I remember how strong she had been. Her beautiful face, on my wall, only gives me the best of emotions and I could have never had a better person in my dream that night. I only wish her poems would not only work for me but work things out.