A letter

To the muse,

I had a dream about you the other night. I seem to be always dreaming of you, lately. I blame it on the season, I blame it on the bitter cold, I blame it on the rain, the wind. I blame it on everything other than my mental self. Reflections, memories of past events turn into hallucinations, dreams, and everything else in between. Never mind my stress levels, and frustrations that vent itself from the situation I have placed myself in. It's been crazy, hectic, stressful, frustrating, and god-awful irritating. It's from this pit of spitefulness and all energy consuming rage that I dream the most blissful and peaceful dreams, and inevitably, you are the core of the dream.

Lately it has been the same dream. The period is perhaps a millennium in the future, and we are traveling on a space ship. You are its captain, and I am some mechanic, or general hand. It's a very pretty space ship, with its nice curves, and seamless flight into space. The ship is quiet, and despite the several tens of thousands of other occupants, we seem to be the only ones who appear alive, or are conversing. Ofcourse, that is nonsense, because I have drowned out their endless chatter, deciding to focus on you and I instead.

But the dream itself may fall to pieces. Sometimes you die, sometimes I die, sometimes we both die. Sometimes the Earth blows up, sometimes we're escaping Earth, and sometimes we land on Earth to see that it is in pristine condition, surprising you, surprising me. It sounds like an extreme dream, doesn't it? But it all feels completely natural, completely commonsense, and completely normal. So normal, in fact, that it is indeed boring. And sometimes, nothing happens, and the dream is just about you and I having a conversation about the most boring of topics: what we ate for dinner, how our day was, the minor problems we faced. Boring? You ask, raising an eyebrow. Ofcourse it's not boring, but it may appear to be that way. From one extreme to another. But boring is an impossible word to place beside you. The dream is anything but boring.

Ofcourse not. Impossible. Incomprehensible. For the dream is centered around you, and you are its focal point. I see, in detail, the way you move, your body language, your speech, even the way you breathe. I can see your fingertips, the sleeves on your jacket, your eyelashes, your lips, your mouth forming words, your shoe laces. Everything. Every thing you do is done with extreme detail, and so utterly perfect. In fact, you are perfect, which makes the dream perfect.

And because everything else has shut itself down around me in this dream other than the bright light that is focused on you, it's.. Blissful. Perfect. Utterly perfect. And I feel.. Perfect. It is with this feeling that I wake up. Relaxed, and at peace. It was how you always made me feel, and how you'll always make me feel. You have always been my muse, and again, in my time of need, there you are again.

I'm lucky I have you as my muse. Now the only thing left is for you to stop being my muse, to get out of my head, and into my life *smile*

From the dreamer.