Passive reflections of light would often defame reality. Illusions and illustrations of the weakness of our brain is often a delight. In my dreams, I find, you. Our place, over the edge of the sea, the walls that let nothing disturb us. In your hand a book that enclose my words and in mine, a book that hides your mind.
A lilly was drawn out in the carving of its skin. Fair and smooth to the texture, the pages would revolt, but you know my dreams like harmony. The pages and the cover, then those words, everything about you and your senses. Muse? As I run my finger to the cover that reminded me of the flower, I remember those lines from reality. Might be there in the book you hold. I told you that you were a flower and I would only stand and appreciate your beauty. Wont like any human discourse to disturb you.
So I dare not move in reality, but in my dream I would surface my need to touch you, lilly. I am remembering the symphony of that sweet sleep, but this Sun, how he reminds me right now that as I write this, I am no where close to picking her up again just to smile and tell her that she is cute. In reality, nothing is certain. Plucking the petals of probability would never help me decieve.
Enough about reality, in certanity of my dream, I saw you naked. Your skin sensed like the warm winter night each time you would read a sentence from the book that would resonate the meaning I need. Your eyes were enough to make me blind, devoid of any sense that surrounds me. Dreams are only purer state of my feelings at times and this is the only way I have sensed you.
“Have you been to those mountains where you need no oxygen but love to sustain a kiss of life.” You read out loud calling me closer as you laid on the bed, my lips could reach your leg, my mind could bleed no time.
“Have you kissed the night alive to let another day burn?” We were contemporary poets, favourite for each other. We knew there was no time to rest the book, and there was no time to let the night pass away. I kept both the books in her lap and picked her up to make her sit on the window pane. Keeping her down, made her body collapse on mine, the friction made its way for a kiss. Her lips clinged onto mine. And it was time.
It was time to be alive. Death of the dream. I somehow said your name and luckily I was alone. You were not here, but there were some text messages.
“I love you”
“Look at these comments.”
“I wrote a long letter.”
I could reply nothing in regards to the universe I started building in my head. In all my dreams we are alone. We build walls around us, we dont need clothes to hide. At the edge of my mind, my dreams collide with time. And here is the big bang, scrutiny of some words.