When I dream, and I’m lucky enough to avoid a nightmare, I dream of the blue sky. I dream of seagulls at the beach, swooping on the wind and calling to each other. Clouds against the blue, like an exotic kind of glass tile, gleaming over my head. I smell sea air and feel the wind rustle through my hair.
Sometimes I dream of laying on the sand, or grass, staring up and watching the clouds and the birds without a care in the world. The earth warm underneath my hands, solid, constant.
I fall asleep there, cradled by natural comforts—with the wind soothing me away—and I wake back up in the real world. Cold hands, sore feet, tired eyes. Three hours at a time, at best; reality a cold echo of a warm memory.
(Source: velvetdemon.net)
