I dreamed of you last night. You were here, so close I could touch you, hear you breathing. And you were looking for something. Then you asked if I had any crayons. I do. And in my dream I gave you a big coffee can full and you smiled and took my hand. We sat on the floor, surrounding by big blank sheets of paper, and made pictures with bright colors. I don't know what it is we were drawing, but we were laughing like six-year-olds. And life was good.
What are dreams anyhow? Are they the manifestations of unrealized hope? Do they allow our unconscious a space to roam? Do they allow us to visit a parallel universe? The future? The past? I like to think that when I meet you in my dreams, you are dreaming, too. And that somewhere in the vast space of the night, there is no distance between us. When I look up I can see into your eyes, and when I reach out I can feel your touch. I wonder if I tried hard enough, could I know what is in your head? In your heart?
And when I woke up. I smiled at the memory of you. And I thought perhaps that the universe was affirming what I know. You bring out the child in me, and spark my creativity. You remind me that I can paint my future with bright colors as you paint yours, and that it's important not to take life so seriously, and to indulge the little girl in me.
Last night, I think our souls went out to play, and you were so close I could hear you breathing?