Beloved Dreamer

Dear Beloved Dreamer,

 

I ask you about the dreams you’ve had not because I’m interested. But because I want to be interested. I want to understand why your mind dreamt of eating bananas on a football field. And why you dreamt you were taking a test in math and a giant dinosaur crashed in. Or, why you dreamt of her while you were talking to me. They say dreams are a figment of your imagination. You brain collecting bits and pieces of information throughout the day to only combine it all together to create an original movie only you can watch. “None of it is real,” they say. But I don’t dream about imaginary things. I don’t see dinosaurs or eat bananas on football fields. I see you. I see how your eyes shine when you talk about dreams and now I want to dream with you too.

 

I see the way your hair shines in the summer sun and flows with the winter breeze. We never touch, we never speak. For my brain can only comprehend what has already happened, not what will. My dreams are glimpses of your face as we dance in the rain and kiss on the beach. How can dreams be a figment of my imagination when you’re right here in front of me? How can I be told the love I hold for you isn’t real but made up? How can it be fake when my brain and body has succumbed to everything you do. Your fingertips send shocks through my body with a simple touch and your smile knocks me off my feet. My heart beats out my chest when you walk into the room and stops beating once you leave. 

 

And honestly, I don’t know how you dream so easily. At night I lay my head on the pillow and wait. I wait for sleep to overcome my mind and some nights I don’t sleep at all. The nights I don’t sleep I think. I think of you. I wonder if you’re awake thinking of me too. I think of how you sleep. Perhaps you sleep on your side or on your stomach like me? What are you dreaming about? Her? Me? Dinosaurs? The world is for you to dream of. I just wish I knew what your brain decides to show you each night. 

 

So as you sit in front of me I ask you about your dreams. I ask you about the bananas and I ask about the girl you dreamt of. I want to ask if that girl was me but I won’t. I won’t hear the answers I already know. So instead I dream. I dream of the love I have for you and let my mind control the rest. They say that dreams are made up. If only they knew I dreamt of you. I wonder if they would fall in love with you too. 

This poem is about: 
Me

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