Her eyes were filled with darkness. The velvet surface of her tongue felt as though it was stitched to the roof above it with dry-rotted sinew. She cautiously flexed it, the threads released and her tongue was free, but not yet ready to speak. With timid fingers, she traced the texture and planes of the slippery shards of glass that lay scattered near where her wet cheek rested on a pillow of mossy stone.
Overwhelming fear was in the act of taking her captive when a streak of her stubbornness and constant logic surfaced, and she knew she was caught in the web of a non-Technicolor dream; that would, with the daylight and a strong cup of coffee, soon disappear.
She must enjoy it before she awakens; in unconscious delight, she draws the darkness near, like the caress of a friend, and begins to whisper, as the rustle of web winged creatures drift by on the breath of an unknown current.
Emotions, not words issue from the soft place hidden deeply between elation and ideas, and between creativity and desires. Awareness is near, yet "sleep" holds on tightly, and release is slow to come. The yearning to know, to understand this slumber strangeness, is strong, but cannot withstand the pull of dawn’s excitement.
Her own bed is so cozy, though the silken sheets are tangled with adventure as she fights the lure of dark comfort and the mist of night time memories. Was it good or bad, will she ever pass through the stream of this dream again? Should she chase the meaning or let it flow and blend in her life like the cream she has just added to her morning brew.
She ponders as she sips; the sun rides high in the sky as all thoughts of darkness dissipate and “the light” wins, He always does!