To Keep Dreaming

I woke up yesterday with a dream of you fresh on my mind. I can’t recall the plot. I only remember a single frame.

We’re in a home. The living room and kitchen area. There’s a brown leather couch to the left. There’s a short wooden capsule-shaped table in the kitchen capable of seating maybe four to six people. And sitting there in a chair is you.

Dark wash blue jeans and a white-ish lavender button down shirt, the top button unbuttoned. You have neatly polished black dress shoes on. You are facing the left but your face is mostly visible to the audiece. You have a phone in your hand, texting maybe. But your eyes are looking up and to the right. Towards me.

I’m wearing a long sleeves lehenga. Dark blue. The skirt’s circumference features embroidered orange and dark green peacock feathers, round near the hem and the points toward the waist. My long black and brown hair is billowing behind me as I face the right side of the frame, the sun’s rays fanning me with warmth. Who knows if I’m facing the East in the morning or the West in the evening. I’m standing and my arms are spread out, one reaching forward toward the light and the other hanging back.

Almost as if I was in the middle of a dance.

The last thing I remember is my own voice singing, “Nenu ninnu premisthunnana?”

I suppose it’s been a question that’s been turning in my head for a while now. Because how am I not suppose to when asked every so often, “Are you still in love with him? It’s okay if you are.”

I’m not quite sure what to make of this dream. But it’s beautiful. I love to dream of you, to think of you, to love you. Undying. Undeniable. Unconditional.

You make me feel safe and warm. You build me up while ninety-nine percent of the rest of my world tries to break me down. And you let me be selfish. You tell me I should have a little ego.

And you never made me feel guilty. You never pushed me away. Because you knew that I couldn’t control how I felt. You said not to stay away too long when I said I needed a break. (Although that didn’t last a week, did it?) Because when life crashes, I want to run into your arms. It’s instinct.

You are family. You are a friend. I admire you and want to be as emotionally intelligent and ambitious as you. You are my savior for you taught me how to save myself. And to save myself before saving others.

You inspire me. We inspire this story that I’ve been aching to tell the world.

A friend of mine recently told me this:

It occurs to me that for a long time, I forgot to dream as well. I was burdened by fear of consequence and by guilt. Because how could I love a taken man?

How can I spend the restless early morning hours, fantasizing about his breath upon my skin, his hands in my hair, and nothing in between us except desire and passion?

But intent is everything. I’m allowed to dream just for the sake of dreaming, of feeling, of knowing it makes me feel alive and good. And knowing that the reality in the tangible realm of reality does not have to match what is up in my head. I do not planning on being your girlfriend or your wife like I once might have. But I love you and I am allowed to love you for as long as I do. Undying. Uncontrollable. Unmeasurable.

I’m done appologizing for how I feel or trying to change how I feel in order to spare hurt to whom apparently doesn’t give a damn a about me. In some ways, I suppose it was for the best and I can breathe again.

I can be breathless again.

You asked me what I daydream about and I’m finally realizing I can confidentally say “You” (and okay, yes, maybe a few- or a lot of others depending on the day, my mood, the phase of tangible reality I am in) without feeling like I’ve done something wrong. Since when was being honest and true wrong?

And some will wonder why not keep my feelings locked inside my brain and not impose them upon the general population. Well, for one I couldn’t care less about what the general population thinks. And besides, it is all anonymous and coded so who cares except those who were dumb enough to pry and then blame me? (They say if you do not want an answer, you should not ask the question).

For two, because you inspire me. Because, you are not just one of, you are my favorite story.

And I shall write stories upon stories, inscribe my love for you in poetry and letters, paint your face a few thousand times, and sing your praises to the grave. Because you have affected my life as such. Because you are good. You are good to me. You are good for me.

So I shall keep dreaming and, just as another good friend of mine was determined that I should, I shall keep writing.

I have realized, this is no obsession. It is simply that to lay my head against your chest and listen to your heart beat would feel like home.