Sweet Dreams

She had a dream about me once.

Weakly lit, their home swayed in the night; the rooftops and towers twisted a skew. Laid in stone, grey stone, the walls stood plain. No color dripped from the walls, no flowers painted the room warmly. A desk sat alone in some room, the man of her dreams, sat alone at the desk on a piano bench. His back to everything, he huddled over stacks of papers, and murmured his thoughts down; violently dipping his quill into the depths of his mind. Like a pianist composing song, he enveloped himself in the composition of a letter to his Lydia. The only life left in him - was the sound of her dress shuffling; brushing up against the back of the bench which he sat atop. A curt laugh escaped her as she watched him work. Her fingers danced across the top of his head, and periodically, she would exclaim “play with me”; then reiterate herself redundantly. “Go away” he muttered to the fly buzzing about his face. Perplexed at the gesture, she would simply smile and dismiss him.

Spinning away, her dress twirled open like a blossoming flower. In the midst of her song, as though struck by a bee sting, she jolted hesitatingly. The material of her dress had pinched her leg. Suddenly drawn into her conundrum, she knelt down apart from him and fidgeted with her attire. He looked up from his desk; as though having heard a strange noise. “Nothing” he exclaimed. “Nothing at all”, he said again as he trailed off into space, eyes lost, mouth gaping open; the look of a man that had just seen the most beautiful woman in the world kneel before him. Just as quickly as he was lost, he regained his focus and his head downcast towards his papers.

Unsettled with her dress, she rubbed at the coarse material. Something about it was not right. It looked so beautiful before she had bought it, but now that it drape over her shoulders, it seemed far too frivolous; dry even. “It’s not fitting” she directed towards him, “you can have this one back”, she said, poking at anything to start a conversation. Slowly she wandered across the floor as it creaked and cried; from behind she laid her arms and head across his back. His coat was coarse like her dress, and just as ridiculous; smothered in a film of dust. She did not mind though, she loved how dusty he was. “Won’t you dance with me?” she asked, as she watched the grey particles float up around him. She rolled her head over to one side, then the other, hoping to jab her chin into his interest. After a few minutes she grew tired and began to dance again.

Spinning and twirling in the thick air, she watched as the blur of hundreds of colorful book covers surrounded her in a kaleidoscope. A dizzy spell fell upon her, and once again she stooped down, regaining her demeanor. “That was fun” she said to herself. After a pause, “I feel ill”; “won’t you cheer me up?” she requested. The room fell so quiet he could hear the clumps of dust crashing into each other like asteroids in space. Frustratingly almost, she picked herself up and walked away into the darkest part of the castle. As the Following light loomed behind her, it grew smaller and smaller. However, no matter which direction she walked, the light never went out.  He was always with her; just far enough away.

Frantically she would dance in the dark, until her legs began to burn and her chest swell with frustration. Hitting the floor, suffocating under the weight of her dress, she closed her eyes to the sound of scribbles and turning pages. Eventually that evening, he stood up from his bench; like a bridge, his back waned with the thousands of pounds of iron ready to give way under the pressure of busy travelers. As he turned about the dark room, he saw his dearest lying in bed, sleeping peacefully. 

“Goodnight lady”, he said wearing a soft expression on his face, neglecting to notice how beautiful she looked in her dress. He turned off the Following light and walked off into darkness, discussing amongst himself. Without even stirring, she ignored every word.