Beauty in Black

Last night I dreamt of a redhead with blue eyes who proposed to teach me how to fly.
And when I dared to ask why she merely shook her head and cried. Her lips trembled and she mumbled her words under her breath, and I said why would I need to fly, and even if I could, where to, where would I fly to? I am happy where I am and I am happy with being stagnant.
But she shook her head, again, a furious display of her character, and she said, this time audibly, that she believed that any human being possessed the potential to fly, in this world, if they truly wanted to, thus it would be a shame to let it go to waste.
And from that dream I learned that staying still is a crime, a sin, a vice, a weakness. I must not only learn how to run, how to hide, how to burry my heard in the dirt if the need arises, but I must also learn to grow my wings and fly, for I live in a society where I can utilize my full potential.
They seem to tell me, then, that stagnation in this day and age is a crime against humanity.

Night after that I dreamt of a girl with black hair and black eyes.
Her whole being reminded one of a darkness that concealed many secrets untold.
And in that dream she was silent, sitting on a patch of damp grass, staring at the sky above. From her I also expected some sort of advice, yet she said nothing. She remained idle with a glass of wine in her hand, her chin pointed to the sky and her feet planted firmly on the ground. I too sat on the wet grass beside her. Neither one of us spoke. The type of silence that filled the gap between us was one that ought not be broken, the type of silence that acts as the only link connecting two estranged souls.
So we allowed it to settle between us like ashen snow, and once in a while I caught glimpses of the twirls of her hair, and wondered at how something so simple could possess so much beauty.
In fact, her entire being possessed an indescribable beauty, and if at that moment one where to ask me why I exactly deemed her beautiful, I would not be able to answer, but I knew, deep down inside, that she was beautiful.
And it was right there, amidst the calmness of my dream, that I realized how my heart longed for stagnation, for sitting still, if I could just have that beauty by my side, preserved in the silence of the moment, and how I wanted to simply hold her hand, hold it in a gentle grasp, and we would stay, in that state of quietude, like two paper dolls cut of the fabric of time.

But alas a door opened, and figures from a different realm poured into the open space. They began to talk and laugh and their laughter was infectious for the girl who had been my anchor for the past few moments. She got up without saying a word and joined the newly emerging figures and they mixed and molded together.
And I lied down on the grass, concealed in the disturbed silence of the moment, longing for her quiet company that was now taken away.

Our realities had been torn apart; she had her reality and I had mine. Nevertheless I smiled as I watched her lips move and her hand oscillate to and fro to drive forth a point of passion. It was all too beautiful, too human, too simple.

Here I am now, my back in contact with the familiar texture of my soft mattress, yet what I long for more than anything else is the wet touch of that grass and being judged by the stars, and in my mind I am aware that the dream I had did not end with the girl talking, and it probably ended with her driving away without remembering my presence, but I do not recall that part of the dream. The only thing that remains now is the overwhelming beauty of us sitting still, not needing to talk or converse, but connecting all the
same.

The sad reality, however, is that such dreamlike beauty is too cruel, too crushing for one who needs ambition to plow through life, and right now, I feel as if my soul teeters on the edge of an uncertain death, wherein I would crumble beneath the weight of that unachievable beauty.

Yet I keep on dreaming, for that is all a man can do.