No talking. Just reading.

In the morning, she wakes up, and opens her eyes to the ceiling.

She rolls over to look at the clock and closes her eyes. No. Not yet.

See, she’s still caught up in her dreams. Didn’t she tell you it’s easier there? None of whatever this is. When she’s sleeping, it’s easier. She can float where she wants, see the colors with unparalleled clarity, and sing the songs that she wants to sing. When she sleeps, the water is as cold or as hot as she wants it. The rain is soft or roaring. She’s free to let her mind wander without fear of discovery. Perhaps she wants to laugh with him. Maybe she just wants to think of where her heart should go next.

But where does it become reality. How does one take the beauty of the mind and translate it a flat piece of black and white? It’s all in there, you see. Locked inside of her mind. Millions of specs of time that all add up to something – to it. And she wants to know what it is. What is the point in getting to dream if you can’t take it with you?

She’s moved past the dreams that one has as a child – ones that become tangible.

“When I grow up, I’m going to have a swimming pool.”

Check. It’s out there. Right now. Want to go for a swim?

It’s the dreams that are found behind her eyes… The dreams that you can’t create. The perfect shade of robin’s egg blue that filled every inch of your mind, yet there’s no paint chip that could match it once the dream is over. The amazing glow of a smile that filled you with such warmth, and the realization that the smile belongs to a person you’ll never meet.

Can’t you see what she wants? Can’t you see why she wants to take it with her? It’s the perfection that she knows exists.

And so she lays. Trying to go back. Ignoring the sunshine.

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