I Dream in Color

I was not living in a hotel

with a faceless brunette or

feeling frustrated by the

pressures of some job

I’ve never had.

I was flooded with feelings

of loss, of love, of regret, of

joy and deep sadness. The

feelings lingered as I woke up

and I had a hard time realizing

I had only been napping deeply on

my couch on a Sunday.

I know the dreams were in color

and vibrant. I somewhat recall

feeling mournful love in one

dream. Then it changed to

an icy coldness in my heart.

I was no longer invested

in whatever I had been so

deeply invested in as the

dream had started with.

The colors added to

the rawness of the

dream, like seeing the sunlight through

a prism and seeing the rainbow

colors swirl against the wall

and change depending

on where you’re standing.

You don’t see red, it is crimson.

You don’t see green, it is emerald.

You don’t see blue, it is indigo.

The true cruelty of dreaming

is the inability to describe it

or explain it to the non-dreamer.

My dreams had all the color

intensity of a salt water fish

tank bursting with tropical

fish around a sun dappled coral

reef. It’s all a jumble however.

And Sunday napping on the

couch can lead to all kinds of

early afternoon confusion. Who was

she? Why was she there? Why

was I with her?

The answers are further away

as she fades into the colors

of reality. Will she wait for

me to return to sleep and

swaddle me in the rolling

blanket of dreaming color?