Or Maybe I'm Just Dreaming

Silence
It's a strange thing. A thief to come and steal away any emotion the sound wishes to give to you. To send to you. To implant in you.

Wishes
Can you ever really be sure what a wish is? Is it the bidding of the stars? Or the sky coming down to color the trees, the grass, the birds, the very substance that you've been so longing to have?

The grass
It's flowing beside you. Long and smooth, almost silky it seems. It blows with the wind, bending again and again, colored a deep ingrained green by the dreams of your future self.

Dreams
Inside your head, they are blurry visions of your past, present, and future, all in one, quick sense of ethereality seen through a misty fog. Dreams never start at a prepared spot, and they never end when you wish them to. But what of when you don't dream? Where do the visions go? Lost in an alternate dimension void of color? Perhaps outside, to the real world.

Outside
There you are again. Back in the long, flowing grass. But you're not in their midst. You're hovering above the ground in an almost surreal sense of wonder, floating on a cloud, toned pink by the sun's dying rays as it dips behind the mountains.

The rays
Touching you, but unreachable. Why does the sky mock you so? Leaving yourself, you prepare to touch the atmosphere. But you can't. It is forbidden.

Preparation
A vague sense of accomplishment before you have even begun. An achievement for the sights in your soul. But after the preparation comes your real challenge.

The soul
As you wonder, you morph. And your mind leaves your body, floating away with no control of speed or direction. Is it just your imagination?

Imagination
It's all in your head. But why must it stay there? Give it a chance! Bring those dragonflies away from the mountain tops to dwell in the cave of spirits and live to do your bidding. Send the comets on gas giants who so proudly orbit, and make them obtainable. Send your mind back to your body.

And here you are again
Back. Seeing out of your own eyes instead of a misty haze, gazing on everything. Walking on your own legs instead of drifting in the breeze. Feeling. Smelling. Hearing.

But thinking?
No. It's all the same.

Or maybe I'm just dreaming...