It was all a dream.

Many of us dream. A big percentage of us out there at least. If you are one of the unfortunate souls that has not recalled a dream or does not look forward to resting at night and being bombarded with uncontrolled images, well then, my apologies, first and foremost, on the account of your brain.

Dreams have been one of the small things I've always been able to remember for some reason. I still remember one night when I was eight and my father's roommate and best friend had to dodge my fast feet as I screamed from fright during a particularly bad recurring dream where Pocahontas followed and semi-stalked me through the outdoor auditorium where summer musicals are put on in my hometown called the Muni. See, even as a small child, I was out of my mind.

Every night before I go to sleep I hope for a dream. They do not always come to me, and when they do they are very... vague. But there is always one place I can be promised a dream. I'm not sure why, exactly, but each time I sleep in this one place, I am graced with dreams. Some odd, some beautiful, all of them blessings.

That place is my best friend's bed at her father's house.

I know this is odd, but I only just realized this the last time I was sleeping over a couple weekends ago. I do not, unfortunately, possess the memory to recall the majority of these dreams off the top of my head, but yet I know that they did happen.

Sometimes you have a dream that is beautiful in all of its eloquence, so brilliant in color and detail, that it becomes a nightmare in the waking hours, driving you to the near brink of insanity. You rack your brain, wondering how a dream of this sort has become, and you never see. All you know is you want it back. Oftentimes, also, you may be in the situation that you awake from this dream and, in frustration, go back to sleep with hopes of its return. We all know that that will never happen unless you wake up and go back to sleep hoping the bad dream you just left will not return. Which it always does. Ugh.

Last night I had a dream. I can't remember much of it. But I remember one voice, a voice that means a lot to me at this moment in time, telling me something that now seems kind of weird, but I still loved and love that it was said and here it is.

"I love your waist. Sometimes, I can still feel my arms around you. Sometimes, my hands grasp air, fooling me into thinking you are near."

And of course, I do believe this is all result of the fact that I, in return, feel the hands of him around me also while half asleep and trippy from my cold medicine. My brain teases me with thoughts of his nearness, of his return. When I do realize it was all a dream, I am sad of course. But when you miss someone, the days get better. Not because time can mend a heart, no. But because for every day since your last meeting, it is also another day closer to your next.

I'll see you in my dreams.

Love forever,

Girl In Blue.

LessThanThree