My Most Magical Dreams

Today I awoke with this phrase dangling from the rafters of my dusty mind:

"Oh the things I see in dreams - the whimsy overwhelms and inspires. Yet the most beautiful ones are with you, when nothing transpires."

Of course that's the translated version for Twitter, within the dream world it went something like: "In dreams I see beautiful, convoluted nonsense like nothing I could ever imagine awake. Yet when you are in the dream and we do nothing but enjoy each other, I find those dreams to be the most magical." And I suppose it's true. Perhaps I am a romantic, and I've denied myself the ability to channel that nature for the sake of my art. There is indeed someone I love, and yet I refuse to act upon it... so uncharacteristically.

But this entry isn't about my personal affairs and the meaning of the dream itself-- I have a dream diary for that. No, this entry is about the strangeness of these simple, romantic dreams. How can an uneventful dream possibly trump the wild, reality distorting experiences? How can a mere person who exists within reality be more exciting than everything else in a world jammed with the impossible? In dreams, I can see colors beyond the rainbow. I can experience stories told by my mind firsthand without even making them. I can be heard. I can be microscopic.  I can be everything and anything... and yet I chose to be with you.

I suppose that's symptomatic of my cancer's stage. I'm a lover sans a lover, so my mind's malady pines for 'm'lady.' I slip into stupor and perhaps poetry. And for what? What can I express? Dreams exist to convey a message, and I hear it with the clarity of megaphone being shoved in my ear. The question then remains:

Does she dream of me, if she dreams at all?  Are they the most magical?


- B