The Science of Sleep


Sometimes I forget that I am here by myself.

My imagination creatively conjures up vivid dreams that bounce me peacefully through sleep.

Power serves my ego freely in my dreams because I recognize the scenery for what it is

Transformable. Fragile.  Susceptible to thought and emotion.

More times than not, the part I loathe comes when these visions start to crumble, warning me of waking.

I long to hold onto some of those moments.

But I am always pulled quickly from Neverland and thrust into the land of the living fiercely…..

Ever wake up in the middle of the night and swoop into the skin that radiates the energy that warms your soul?

My dreams feel like that safe place; balancing my need for those places with the stark shock of emptiness. They cradle my loneliness and tickle my heart.

Have you ever woke up late in the night, feet moving, and toes frantically searching for other toes?  Fruitless searching that leaves you alone, with your memories.

Remember the complete void that rushes over your body like a pearl paleness?

It drains your color and your courage.

It is in those sharp moments I yearn to drift back to sleep.

Be foggy and hazy, yet happy and full

Even dreams end.  I know.

But brief glimpses are better than no glimpse at all.

For in the existence of dreams, smells are reborn.

Long lost ways of touching my childhood actually flutter and dance and explode with memory so fresh I would trade moments of later happiness for more dreams like that.


About ashleykayweaver

I am a mother, writer, lover, comedian. I am an old soul, a veteran, a woman. Im human.
This entry was posted in death, dreams, Inside Myself, poetry, wishes and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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