A Dream Like You

You are a dream. An impossible, recurring one. The sort that you expect on a particularly lonely night. It is set in the same wondrous locale where the buildings are of uneven sizes. There is no uniformity but the roads largely run straight, only to curve sharply when you least expect. In such a dream no one dies instantly but everyone is not fully alive either. No no, not the Zombie-type. You are more beautiful than death. The roads run around cliffs which overlook the sea, the kinds which you don't care about. Perhaps that's how much you think about me too. Not much. 

I wonder if you ever wonder about such things. But dreams don't bother about who dreams them. Though the dreamers struggle with many different dilemmas. Neither of which concern the dream itself. You play hide and seek but I always lose. Though I also always play. I am not a big fan of losing but losing to you, I don't mind so much. Other dreams don't matter so much to me but you do.

Such a strange but regular dichotomy and yet I enjoy this particular monotony. What happens to dreams once you wake up? You forget them except for the traces that linger until the coffee or the day evaporates them away. But you remain fresh, like flowers in Dadar Phool Market at 630 AM. A persistent burning wick of an old lamp which won't extinguish. Fuelled my obsessive thoughts, ideas and fantasies and love for you. 

Sometimes dreams break. Sometimes they are broken. Not like the wine glass you once knocked over. But more like the ship which is broken at Daarukhana ship-breaking yard. Parts of scrap are hauled out and taken apart by men and machines. Like they did to INS Vikrant one time in 2014, the heroship of the '71 war. That is what you do. But you self-destruct throughout the day. Fading away figment by figment as the day competes with you and you let the day win. 

In the ebb and flow of your presence, your ephemeral appearance and the impossibility of all, somehow the day ends. But that's when it is time to go to bed. Why sleep at all was a question I grappled with as a young man. Though it does not bother me any more. To meet you, sleep I must. This obsession is not worth my time, you agree. But a dreamer has got to dream. Even an impossible one. Good Night. See you soon.