A SUCCESSION OF IMAGES
My mother says that a dream is something of an unreal beauty, charm, or excellence. My father says it's whatever you think about in the seconds between closed eyelids and metaphorical situations. My professors used to say it's anything from a succession of images, thoughts, or emotions passing through the mind during sleep to nothing more than random electrical activity in the brain. My friends say it's false hope or a hidden stash of drugs that we access in our sleep state. My television says it's something that if obtained, would set everything right, a pure state of euphoric content. My childhood says it's a wish that your heart makes when you're fast asleep.
There's so many different definitions that people put in front of me when I ask them what should be a simple question. I'm glad no one asks me why I ask, or what I think the answer is. I've tried to gather scientific research to see if anything matches up. But I know that loosely, within all those lines, you're my dream.
You are practically unreal, the distance makes me imagine your charm as if you≠re right in front of me, breath lingering behind your perfect words. You are all I can think of as I search frantically for any hours of sleep that I can find. You are a motion of all the thoughts and feelings, the collective fantasy of all I can get. You are a hope to me, perhaps a doubtful and false one, but one none the less, one that I'm willing to fight for. You are the answer to any question or problem, you are the cause and the cure. You are any childhood cliche that I was taught to trust, and then taught to redefine.
You are my dream..., you are all I've ever thought about, all I ever think about, awake or otherwise. Maybe you are a pipe dream and seventh heaven. Regardless, you are my dream and if you come true, you will turn my star into a planet.
With nothing but love; I remain,
love letter collection
11:47 PM EST
Thursday, October 13, 2011