I honestly had one of the most beautiful dreams I have ever experienced.

It’s been a rough two weeks, but I’m still happy. It’s strange how being exactly where you’re meant to be affects your ability to react to the little things that are shitty, but happen when you least expect it.

Last night was a night of insomnia. It wasn’t bad. I wasn’t upset about it. I do, however, have a tendency of forcing myself to stay in bed when I am having a bout because I’m very much like a child and will pass out eventually.

And I did.

In my dream, I was living in a house with a bunch of friends from the west coast. It honestly had the feel of a commune. There were always people around and they were talking to each other and I didn’t understand any of the words coming out of their mouth. I think a part of me knew that they were speaking English because I stared in abject horror and wondered what was wrong with me.

A few people talked to me and I could feel the reverberation of my jaw and hear the timbre of my voice, but I had absolutely no idea what I had said. I think that I may have excused myself and walked to what I could only assume was my room. For some reason there was a sink and mirror against a wall (like they do in hotel rooms sometimes). I leaned against the chilled porcelain and it felt like an eternity before I could look up at myself.

I saw the saddest flicker of light in my eyes. I even spent time looking at them. Icy blue iris with almost gold flecks around the pupil. It’s jarring to think of how many muscles were at work while I stood there trying to change my expression. I would shift to a smile, frown, make a monster face… but the sadness still remained in the coloring of my eyes. It was like a filter had been applied to them to dull their brilliance, but it was only appearance. It wasn’t my vision that was clouded.

I could hear people talking through paper thin walls and couldn’t understand anything that was being said. It was as if I was a character in the Sims that didn’t belong in the game. I grabbed a set of headphones and put them on.

They weren’t plugged into anything, but as soon as they settled over my ears I heard Calexico – Frank’s Tavern. Before I realized it, I was dancing with my back to the door. My movement was fluid and almost ballet-inspired. I closed my eyes and danced for a little bit until I felt pressure against my right palm.

I lifted my lids and found myself falling into my eyes again, only to realize that they didn’t have the flecks of gold mine did. I pulled back slightly and recognized the face of the man that was leading me along. He pulled back with my hands in his, allowing my legs to stretch. He pulled me back into a tight almost-waltz and finally spun me out. When I stopped spinning and the music ended I smiled and bowed.

I took the headphones off, but music continued. It was the voices of all of the friends I have made on the west coast. One-by-one, each of them danced with me and after each time I found myself understanding their words.

I have no idea what any of it meant, but I woke up wanting to thank that first friend. Without his help, it would have been a different dream. A terrifying dream.

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