… of my own at least. I’m getting a little more help from the words and images of others. It’s all about the message…
I’ve always been amazed at how vivid dreams can be. Sounds, images, feelings, smells – all so real you have to check to see if any of it actually happened, or if it was in fact just a dream. Sometimes I have flashes of memory that give me the same feeling, was it real or just a dream. Images, sounds, feelings that give you butterflies, make you smile and then make you sad – all at the same time.
To clasp you now and feel your head close-pressed,
Scented and warm against my beating breast;
To whisper soft and quivering your name,
And drink the passion burning in your frame;
To lie at full length, taut, with cheek to cheek,
And tease your mouth with kisses till you speak
Love words, mad words, dream words, sweet senseless words,
Melodious like notes of mating birds;
To hear you ask if I shall love always,
And myself answer: Till the end of days;
To feel your easeful sigh of happiness
When on your trembling lips I murmur: Yes;
It is so sweet. We know it is not true.
What matters it? The night must shed her dew.
We know it is not true, but it is sweet —
The poem with this music is complete.– Claude McKay
Some dreams are just that. Sights and sounds in the darkness of sleep. Others are meant to be lived out loud. They are worth fighting for. These tend to be better when shared. At this point, all I have are my dreams. I don’t know what tomorrow brings, and I would never be able to show them all but this is some of what my dreams look like…
It’s all about the message.
It’s easy to miss in the din of time and responsibility. It’s easy to be hidden behind the walls of self preservation. It’s easy to be overlooked when one ignores the burden of a secret and simply enjoys the moment. It’s always lost when the urge to protect overshadows the urge to live with wanton abandon. It’s never seen when appearances must be preserved at the expense of being true to the darkness of the night before the light.
The message was whispered into your dreams. It was kissed onto your lips. Scratched onto your back. Stared into your eyes. Written onto my heart. Hopefully, this last time, the message will be delivered for the simple truth and promise that it is.
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
– Elizabeth Barrett Browning