It is dark in the living room, in a chair, in the corner. The timepiece above the television displays 3:38 am. When something haunts me, hunts me, it helps to not go to sleep. You see, at night, during sleep, that’s when the dreams gain entrance. That minute chance at bliss that was subdued all through the day is allowed it’s moment at night, in the dark, when no one can hear it scream. Then it happens, like the breaking of a dam the thoughts arrive, flooding through the gates as soon as the conscious mind exits preparing the way for the dream.
The dream picks its victims carefully and precisely, knowing full well which inner folds to seduce to gain entry, it seeps though, seemingly innocent, unaware, yet fully intent on its purpose. It floods the cavity, filling the space left by the conscious, allowing the heart a play day, a opportunity to expound on the whims that the brain does not allow. The heart warms and welcomes the love, the lust allowing it to evanesce into the being, the wishes and hopes surge in along with past loves, future wants, and current passions filling the shell with completeness. The play continues without at curtain call, the puppets moving to my own direction, choreographing their every feeling, thought and outcome. Slowly the dawn must break, sending the party away as the clock on the mantle chimes, slowly vaporizing and exiting a la Cinderella back through the eyes, the lips, the fingertips, skirting out leaving just fast enough for the conscious mind to catch a glimpse, to find the slipper, to feel, to see enough, to know what it missed, what it desires, and what is absolutely out of reach, just enough to wash the brain, and break the heart