Tell Me a Bedtime Story

In a dream, people come to me as I want them to be. Their hair is cut how it used to be. Beard is shorn. Clothes are pressed. In my dreams, the people float around as a better version of themselves. We all do. It is an unchallenged existence where we say the right things and act the proper way.

These dreams occur between when the alarm sounds and the snooze button is hit. Somewhere that is very brief and has a delicate symphony in the backdrop. The record we chose to rise from our slumber plays in the background. Usually melodic, the thoughts dance on the eyelids that are about to flutter open. We cannot escape the sweet dreams that ooze in. I’ve tried. My brain stays in that sleepy place where everything is possible. No no’s, nods and smiles, kisses and teeth. Usually, a lot of sex seeps in. A pleasant sigh then stretching up.

What a better way to wake up than with these pleasurable thoughts? Drifting into the mind. Migrating from the recesses of the brain to the center of attention. In these thoughts, people are perfection. Moving the right way, saying the right things. Whatever way they were becomes the dream. The illusion encompasses all.

Sometimes I wake up and have to decipher what was in the illusion and what was reality? Between sleeping and waking, everything feels so very real. Visceral images concocted by the impending world the eyes are about to see. We overlay the daydream on top of the days. A linocut on a black piece of paper. The glow from the paranormal, lighting up quickly before we great the very real sunshine.

Such a tough world to wake up to, so we create this last space between REM and real. In the world, everything is a little bit different. All of the fuzzed out imperfections are back. Contrast is on high, overexposure, it’s all so disheartening. From the moment I leave my bed I count down the hours until I can be back in it. Back inside my dreams with perfect people, under the covers with perfect partners. My head rests on a pillow; I wish to never lift it, away from the unpleasant reality and discomfort. The bed is this raft of space adrift in a sea overrun by creatures of the deep. Awakening is more frightening than the thought of never waking up. Is this goodnight or good morning?

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