You're a Godsend. Do You Want a Boyfriend?

I have this recurring nightmare that you and I are on a boat. You keep remarking how nice of a day it is but the sea is churning, thunder booming in the distance. I keep yelling that we need to get somewhere safer, and that if you’d listen to me, we might get out of this alive. You stand up near the bow, tipping our already unstable vessel, I grip the sides of our lifeboat, squinting and hoping not to die; arms outstretched, you compliment the sky’s beauty and my wondrousness, claiming to have tamed the sea and brought upon an eternal summer, when really you have only half-drowned us, our boat weighed down with excess water. I scream at the top of my lungs, yelling over the gale swirling around us that we have to go; we can go together, but we have to go if we want to live. You don’t seem to realize that my voice is going hoarse from all of this screaming about impending doom. It is then I realize that you are on a different boat, a different ocean. We are looking at different skies, different waters. It is then that I realize that I have been whispering and you weren’t talking about my wondrousness, just the wonders you wished to see in yourself. It is then that I realize that you have not tamed my sea; I have only tamed yours. You selfish bastard, I am drowning.