It was just a dream...Just an illusion...

It was just a dream; an illusion…

I walked on a daydream with my head held up by a string, and the sting of memory that became confused by the concept of nothingness in time – 23 hours of awakened resolution, and half of sixty to breathe with the eyes closed.  Why was I kept from sleep?

The road kept from me no secret of her arrival, and strangely as an unborn instinct, I knew of her presence at a distance.  Subconscious efforts made improbable but not from becoming visible by the orange lights of my dark neighbourhood.

“Why are you here, dear illusion?”

There can be no response from quiet tears.

Her smell; her form – these played with the notion of reality.  Has insanity finally taken the best of my idealism?  Am I talking, once more, with the essence of a remembered ghost?  But how can I explain this sensation upon the sense of touch?  Smooth, delicate, and shaky with an attack of the nerves below my sweaty hands.

I walked without walking.  I tossed without limping.  My legs deceived me.  The sun alerted me with a message of heat, and a massage above my scalp – “This is as real as real can get.”  No! how could I have been dreaming all day long?

The gasps in despair of fresh air were no longer present; my lungs felt rejuvenated in exchange with her breaths.  The dorm that once kept my ambitions alive became a shadow of memory touched by her skin; and the frictions of two strangers, two old acquaintances, dancing above the waves of unearthed sheets.

But it was all just a dream; an illusion…

Her fragrance, impregnated in my skin of skins, leapt from dusk to dawn and I carried it with me throughout the rising sun.  And the taste of her lips upon mine was filling my appetite, consumed by what little energy preserved me.

“Will you travel to nowhere with me, oh dear illusion?”

Dreams often give you answers for which remembrance is vague.

I laid myself on the empty casket at the corner of my room – my eyes suggested rejuvenation, my body demanded sleep, my mind requested peace.  There was no room for wanders of the heart after 23 hours of voluntary insomnia.

“Even in the distance I have kept you awake,” said my illusion.

“For you,” I said, “I would keep the days awake in the sight of sleeps, where your figure can be dreamed about, and the illusions become as real as the nights spent in the darkness of your light.”

Will I dream again?