There's a comforting sound to the echo of my naked voice and the lone footsteps; the white walls of the white rooms. They fill me with transparent happiness and ease as I sit at the window and dream of smoking. I sit still and allow the rhythm of my breath to relax me, I close my eyes and let my body die as my mind wakes itself and takes my hand. I follow.
I swim through the blue purple water and when I tire, the pulsating waves lifting and carrying my heavy weightless body lead me through the mouth of a cave. These sharp rocks cradle me and I think to myself: "the words will come, like vomit or tears, like an inevitable body fluid and you need not worry." But I worry, and the pink sugary froth of the ocean stops caressing me because I am on land, as soon as I realize this, my feet leave the ground and I'm being carried away again and I'm flying slowly and enjoyably. The sun is setting fire on the trees as a cold breeze makes me close my eyes and I throw my head back and let it take me. I float through the branches, limbs and fingers spread out ending in leaves that dance and giggle with the wind, the darkened trunks wavering, kissing everywhere in all the bright colors. I see half black, half a scorching white, I fall back and wake; thirsty, stiff and stale.
I had a dream last night. My mother asked me if I was ready, and I lay awake asking myself if I was, so I took that sheet of paper and stored it in a cabinet at the back of my head for tomorrow. I get scared. Very often I lay awake in bed without sleeping only breathing, filing papers into cabinets, sorting stacks of yellow words in my head. I often dream of flying, floating effortlessly and silently, I often dream of swimming, and drowning, and very often, I dream of you.
