Living the Dream
I admired the beautiful handwriting by tracing my fingers over the elegant curves. The calligraphy scrolled like the sway of a perfectly shaped feminine butt in tight jeans. I could see her walking on a metal bridge as I trailed a step behind, too entranced to even breathe. I sighed, hoarding the air into my lungs, before I went breathless again. I ran my hand over my face, entirely covering my nose and mouth then mapping the outline of my stubbled chin. I gasped, a faint scent of Lavender and Jasmine lingered on my fingers. My heart pounded with a thousand delights. Sunshine lighted the world around me and a breeze stirred the surface of a lake, goading the water into dancing with the wind like the bangs of a mischievous boy riding his bicycle on the open road.
© iStockphoto/ThinkstockClimbing an immaculately manicured hill, you reached a railing where you stopped and looked at the river below. A couple of kids, more beautiful than a mecsek flower and a red rose played together. They laughed and raced and rolled on the grass. Their eyes, tranquil with content saw through you as if you weren't there. “Am I in the way?”, you asked the gorgeous little girl. She willed you to move without even nodding and followed a path laden with gold and jewels only she could see.
Rain threatened but waited. A solitary man stood by a window chasing a woman with a painfully long gaze before she disappeared behind the curb. His eyes held on precariously to the forming tears. I tossed and turned and woke up. The leather-bound notebook lay on the night table. I reached for it and peeled it open where the bookmark cleaved its pages down the middle. I read the Douglas H. Everett quote. There are some people who live in a dream world, and there are those who face reality, and then there are those who turn one into the other. Sweating but not ill at ease, I wiped my wet cheeks and smiled. Another dream, another day.