THE DREAM

THE DREAM

Artwork : "Lilac Dreams" by Josephine Wall

       I dreamed one night that I was a fleece of white light rising from the sea and slowly spinning towards the sky, getting thinner, like the thread formed from raw wool, as it was raising higher. And I woke up sighing because of the dream that had been interrupted without letting me reach there, where only in a dream I could still reach... and then I closed my eyes and tried to go on with the dream, because I knew how it was going to continue, if only I could have dreamed it entirely. I could go with closed eyes on that road. I knew so well the road that the fleece of light was going to climb, slipping like a shadow along the empty streets in the night... it was going impatiently to have a look whether the window was open... it was going to enter slowly, sneaking between the folds of the curtain that was moving under the soft touch of the spring night wind that was entwining the smells of the flowers with the salty smell of the sea... And it was going to touch your sleep tenderly caressing your eyelids.

        Your body was there, under the touch of the rays that had embraced you but your soul was far away, in slumber land and I could not reach it. I only could watch over your sleep and I had to leave before your soul was going to return, because it would have driven me away and I could have never returned.

        Everything was looking so real... Was looking? No, it really was... because I wasn't dreaming, I was awake and just imagining...and yet, the images were coming one after another, beyond my will, as it only happens in dreams. I would have liked it to be a dream... because otherwise, I knew my mind was painting only the images it wanted to see, while the dream would have really taken me there, showing me the
reality. But even so I was happy, because my imagination was rewarding me with so vivid images of your sleep.

        I startled when your lips moved ; your soul was going to return, and this was a sign I had to leave the soonest possible. I wanted to place a kiss of light on your lips, as a promise I would return in another night, of another time. But the whisper of your lips stopped me. They had spelled another name, as a sign that I should not have
come either.

        I had to go, but I was happy leaving ; it wasn't a dream but only what I imagined ; therefore nothing was true. Your sleep was waiting for me to return anytime and it had never called another name.

        I don't know where some car brakes squealing their final agony before stopping were heard. I only know I startled violently from my sleep. I was dreaming.

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