Love flourishes in the remnants of our dreams.
Memories may escape us -
Dear moments once treasured banished to the far expanses of our minds.
Touches become ghostly traces on our skin -
Trails of tenderness and passion morph into echoes of dormant caresses.
But dreams.
In dreams, the shut up boxes of old memories that reside dust-ridden in the recluse corners of our thoughts emerge.
One by one, the flaps shutting out the daylight of our reality from the memories we keep creek open.
The spirits emerge slowly from them like a genie from a bottle, ready to fulfill our wildest desires.
The smoke materializes into the fresh faces and views of our past that converge into what our dreams are made of.
Love is of epic proportions -
the people you loved, who loved you, whom you longed to love all burn like torches of the hottest kind.
Angst and rejection pierce like needles through the skin -
Leaving open wounds bleeding to slowly torture each victim.
Our inhibitions suffocate or absolve us.
Our passions suffocate or absolve us.
Our luck suffocates or absolves us.
Dreams leave everything to the imagination of "What If..."
Touches may become ghostly traces upon our skin,
Memories my escape us,
But nothing escapes the technicolored world of our dreams.
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