If only there was a voluntary dream states which can involve more than one participant experiencing the very same dream together. For now, the reality is, we dream alone, the people we encounter in the dreamscape are all one and ourselves. We construct entire fantasies, we venture nightmares to conquer our fears. But these lovely fantasies, these devastating nightmares, they are little but our own constructions. But we do really need these dreams. By night, I come to life. This brings to mind a very old story you use to tell me titled "Tangerine Dreams". I remember myself being like the girl, the very one that led a monochromatic life but dreamt tangerine dreams, dreams of colour and life. Then like me, she met someone like you, an individual whose waking moments are of technicolour splendour but dreams in sepia monotones. When they met, together they complete each other. When seperate in each was lack, when united was whole as one. The girl now lived in a world of colour, and the boy dreamt rainbow dreams. But what about our story? We were like them, but the fairy tale ending, we were denied. Yesterday i dreamt of you again, dreamt of an impossibility. I laid in my bathtub pondering of you and you stepped into my dream. You stepped into the tub and we made passionate love. A simple dream, a harmless one, no one gets hurt in such fantasies, not I, not you. If only we had a space where the you in my dream, was you somewhere faraway, dreaming that very same dream, engulfed in that very same passion as you took me in your arms, moving together as our souls intertwined in a moment of ecstasy. No complications, only pleasure, only fantasy, a shared fantasy. Maybe it was only through this imagined space can I give you what you want - the entire being of Sky, soul, heart and body.

A quiet sort of calm came via the mobile phone. A quiet, familiar and comforting calmness. Its good to hear my past trickling down my ear canal and reaching deep into the crevices of my heart. That sweet voice I once longed to hear over and over again in my ear every moment of my life. Now I hear it once in a while and it still taunted me to long for it again. You're like a drug, dear little temptress from the past.

I stood for an eternity alone,

Oceans in our minds will never suffice to replace the real oceans that encompass our island city. The eternal kiss between elements, the insurmountable earth and unstoppable waves. When they collide, explode in a flurry of energy and emerald foam. Sky however lingers above, watching, yearning for that same closeness, this same passion. There are days when I linger closer, glancing a glimpse at the flower peppered earth breaking away for the crashing of electric blue water that threatens to overwhelm it, but merely crests and falls away, withdrawing from the nature kissed grounds, only to return again with greater resolve, reaching endlessly again and again to be with the grounded earth. The moon will rise and her will would order the tides to recede, dictating his ebb and flow. There are days when both earth and water lay seperated by an unpassable gulf, meeting only at the edges, the trickles like fingers that touch with fingers. When will I become a part of this love narrative, one so natural like nature itself.

Sometimes you want to erase all trails of yourself from the people around you. You want to hide where they can't reach. You want to go where they didn't know you did. You want to create secrets to keep from them, so that you own the significance they hold and in doing so, shuts them out from your inner world.

I have this habit of just going about doing my things my way. But unlike the stereotype of going about doing your own things being synonymous with doing things in a fixed manner, I seem to find new strange things to do all the time.

Take one simple event - going to the loo. Simple enough isn't it? You go in, take a piss, flush and wash your hands, then get out.

What I do is not only go to the loo at my workplace, but also suss out nearby loos which I might like better than my company loos. So if, say I have a date with buddies after work and I need to freshen up a little, I would head for those loos instead of the ones at my workplace. I refuse to associate the workplace loos with my personal life!

Also, a recent snoop around the nice loos led to my discovery of a stairwell with olden days architecture. No one seems to use the stairwell, there's been a plastic bag there for weeks and I doubt the cleaner even bothered to check if the place needed cleaning. I would love to hole up in the stairwell someday when I get a really bad day. Hideyholes may be for boys, but we all need space and sometimes you gotta look where no one bothers.

When you kiss me these days, I don't seem to feel that they are your good old "I Love You" kisses. They feel more vulgar of late. I fear you might become like the rest, banal in attempting to pin down the the sky in earthiness, wanting to consume me physically and thus dooming us to the slippery slope of lust. You have my heart, and I weep to think what you would ask of me next.

We chase shadows, clinging on to every glimmer of distant hope. Delusioned angels fallen from a glass tempered heaven that expelled us like autumnal leaves into a mortal world below. The soft clouds and eyeful stars glance back at us as we descend earthbound, our wings no longer able to lift our solid bodies. Feathers flew skyward in our trail, black and whites tearing free from our spirits, as the colours blue and white awash our path like falling stars which non would wish upon. Crimson tears fell like the cold rain, turning the brightened day to a darkened grey funeral gloom, bleeding from a broken heart. From where I was, were the tears ascending? Or are we falling like one winged angels?

It is a quiet day. Apart from the gentle teasing wind which runs his fingers through my soft brown hair, there are only my thoughts. A rare moment where nature takes me in her loving arms and tells me softly I am hers. The gentle crush of green beneath my feet as mild sunlight eases their way through the cotton clouds above, yields a white spotted field of forget-me-nots that fill the air like my thoughts, carrying with them new lives and our hourglass moments. I cast my blue scarf into the wind, seeing him carry it playfully skywards towards the teal horizon. Like the scarf, I cast myself into the winds of change, wondering where their endless journies would take me. I close my eyes to inhale nature, feeling lost in the moment. When I open my eyes, I know you would be here waiting for me, you promised. When we can no longer find each other, this would be where we'll wait, I for You, You for me. I would trade I for You anyday, just be here.

Sky
Avon
Dreaming Writing Believing


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