I’m the stuff of dreams.
A recurring setting from an old memory, brought to the anterior only in sleep. A fantastical land you created to accommodate all that didn’t in the tangible world. As years passed, you brought with you certain others– friends and family from school and college and work. You’d jump across rooftops and meld into rainbows, you’d watch shooting stars flash past as Coldplay played in the background.
You’d come to me in the best of times and the worst of times. And I’d stir up concoctions customized to the cause , swaying the rains and waves while the winds gently chimed. And so on some days, there would be fireworks against starry skies, on others you would walk the meadows while the sun shined.
As a child you’d bring along all the lullabies your parents sang to you, the humming tunes of young days and younger nights that still resonate within.
And then one day, you asked if you’d sing to your own kids someday. I stayed silent, not knowing what to say-
“It can never sound as good anyway”.
I smiled. Time was unkind – not that I hadn’t tried.
They had claimed you after all.
Until we meet again, as you will, under pretext of an adult asleep. I know with a knowing, for I’ve weaved all your dreams.