Orange

She dreamt of him in hughes of colour that only seem to make sense when her eyes were closed. When she woke up, it was like he was swept away by the sunlight. She could try to hold on to him all she wanted, but she knew it was no use. He was familiar and warm, but unplaceable.

She filed him in the back of her mind and remained in mediocrity. She worked like everyone else, rode the bus like everyone else, and lived her life like everyone else. People passed in and out of her life constantly; nothing was ever the same way twice. She'd met plenty of men. Plenty decent, good-hearted, worthy men. But there was always something wrong. Something always felt wrong. She hadn't meant him yet. The one that would feel like an old friend, yet a new stranger. The one that would finally make sense in the daylight. He would no longer be a fragmented dream.

There was something about the way he was with her, when she was dreaming, that made her believe that she would meet him in the real world. Something about his words, and his movements mesmerized her. She could tell that he loved her. Unreachable and unknown as he may be, she knew that much.

And even if he wasn't real, even if they would never meet, she held hope in her heart that the feeling was real. She had hope that one day, she would feel the way she felt when she was dreaming. She could have the confidence to believe that someone, somewhere would be as familiar as the dreams she dreamt every night.

She believed it, with all of her might.

Ask

I guess there's no point
in expecting to live a dream
when nothing ever really
comes close.
And I guess there's no point
in hoping for the best,
because hopes and expectations
always fall through.
But I tried my best,
to harness some courage
to see what I could see
in you.
I never accounted for
the fact that it is necessary
for you look for me
too.
I guess there's no point
in telling someone about yourself
if they never even ask
how you're doing.

Summer Dreams

I had dreams
of catching bugs in jars
on weeknights, after work
and mapping stars
and telling each other their stories
while drinking cheap wine
because at least it's classier
than drinking cheap beer.
Dreams, of day trips
and late nights
writing delicate words
and catchy melodies
after watching Molly and the gang,
and nursing hand cramps
induced by video game controllers.
Dreams that were dreamt
with you in mind,
(obviously)
and now I can't bring myself
to fulfill them single handedly,
so I aimlessly search
for my dream four-leaf-clover
to bring me some hope
that things will turn around.
But for now all I dream
about are the things you do
without me,
because I have no courage
and no perfect words
to tell you that
I don't want to catch fireflies
with anyone else but you.

When You Sleep In

You sleep in,
through the rain and the windy weather,
dreaming your mornings into afternoons,
while I wait, wait, wait,
for you to wander downstairs.

And I wonder,
what it is you're dreaming of?
Is it the sun and the sky,
the paradise in your mind,
or could it even be,
me?

I call your up to your room,
ring ring, ring ring,
and I talk to your voice machine,
asking her to tell you
that I'm waiting.

Yet, in reality,
I smile inside myself,
knowing you're tucked up,
warm and safe,
while I sit here daydreaming,
of you.

Sometimes when you sleep in,
I really don't mind at all.

Happy Day

It may as well be 

raining rainbows and sugar plums, 

because this day is like a dream-- 

a mixture of the whimsical 

and the sheer excitement found in hope.

And tomorrow may be the same, 

with clouds that look like cotton balls,

leaves that fly like birds, 

and a sun that lights everything up. 

You light everything up. 

Oh such joy!

Oh such joy.