Burning Muse

I wonder

Editors Note: Incredible. Seriously. Just mind blowing.

travestyintechnicolour:

if I placed my fingertips on your eyelids, would I be able to feel your dreams? I need not know the mechanics of it, how your subconscious would be transmitted to my brain, I just want to know whether my touch could get my head to fuse with yours. What do you dream of? I like to think the pretty thought that you dream the kind of dreams that people talk about. People talk about the kind of pretty dreams with progressions and happenings that they remember with lust upon waking up. I don’t have those kinds of dreams. I only have the kind of dreams with people who are only half-finished, and plots that jolt like the car of a student driver. Sometimes I remember the waking up from pretty dreams with pictures in my head that fade away the more I try to regain my pretty breath, but I don’t think even my pretty dreams have progressions. I want to know if your lids would show me your dreams though, so I could remember them for you. I think that would be better than any award-winning motion picture, even if dreams are only a few seconds long. I think it would be OK even if I wasn’t there in your head when you sleep. I want to know what the world looks like projected into your flesh, with or without me.

Do you shake gently on a trampoline in time to your heartbeat, dragging gently pine needles across the bridge of your nose? Were you just moments ago dragging gently a hand across the towering walls of limestone at the side of the highway, catching bits of fog on your tongue?

Do you gaze into a car window at night, looking at your profile in the glass, noticing that your collarbone is half shadow? Were you just moments ago noticing in yourself the beautiful I’ve always seen?

Do you lay down in the middle of the wilderness of Manitoba and see the treetops in the kind of lighting you thought could only happen in films? Were you just moments ago hanging upside down with your palms in the soil, admiring the way it looks like you could walk on the blue?

You know, people have always told me that everyone’s fingerprints are different, and I never really believed them. But if they’re all right after all and my fingertips are like snowflakes, I’d like to try to see those dreams. And if the lines in my fingertips allow me to access the space behind your darting eyes, then I’ll know the patterns are arranged just right, and that there’s a reason I’m the only one who can see.