Dream Farer

I wake up. It's not my bed, though it seems familiar. I must have seen it in a dream...

Several steps down the stairs and I find myself in a decently sized lounge with a great opening towards the backyard. The neatly cropped lawn, the terrace view of the ocean, the violet curtains. It's all very spacious inside, all the white, all the right angles, everything carefully aligned. I'm sure nothing of this is mine though I've seen all this before.

Just as I try to makes something of the nonsense I'm trapped in, I sink even deeper. Placed against an empty wall, a wooden table with a typewriter on it. Maybe this place is mine, after-all? The stream of thoughts is rudely interrupted by a shout coming from outside:

"Good morning, honey!"

As I look in the direction of the high-pitched cry I'm blinded by the shiniest, brightest light. My unadapted eyes struggle against something I have never thought I'd see again: the Sun.

While the burning sensation clears, images start to form. First, they all appear in a hectic sporadic movement then, they start to settle. Outlines start appearing and I can make out some of the shapes. Out of the pitch black, the white spots begin to combine with colour and, as I get used to the powerful light, I can clearly see the blue sky separated by the horizon from the dark navy-blue ocean. In between, a canvas stands on an easel depicting a miniature image of what I'm beginning to see. The horizon merges with the horizon line represented on the canvas.

Just in front of the canvas stand a most-familiar silhouette. My heart starts pounding and just like a huge hedge hammer I plummet downwards and hit the ground with a loud

Buzz! I wake up. Again and again and again. And in my wakefulness I dream the same dream, over and over and over again. Was she not everything I desired or am I only now beginning to see?

I realise that I am forever doomed to live inside my mind though, in this world, I am numb and lonely. I somehow am trapped inside her own fantasy, an intruder forever to complete her ideal - independent of myself. But forever is a very short period and, sometimes, this span is too close to too short to ever mean something - just as she's no more than what I imagine her to be.

I am forever to be captive in a paradise of plenitude and happiness and never taste the sweetness of it, for though she represents the ideal in my projection of a relationship, I know now that I am just attracted by the idea of what she would mean. I live an artificial life - she is not my lover for this plastic world contains no love, she is not my friend for she has not the notion, she is not my muse for she has not the value.

She is not my ideal for I simply have none.

Awake again.