As I slowly coast to sleep, I distinguish her. She awakens my subconscious, bites at my senses, claws at my heart, and provokes it to beat in rhythm with my everlasting thoughts of her beauty, her soul. I witness her as she drifts closer, dances, floats. She decorates a small, shiny silver needle with a perfect pink thread. She twists it leisurely around the sides, holds it against the sun. It shines and shimmers, like my thoughts of her. And as she slowly comes closer to me holding it, I feel strangely content, blissful, and secure.

She sews my eyes shut completely. Her image dances athwart my eyelashes. It tickles them, making me feel excited, and exultant. She laughs, the ricochet of it rings through my ears, like glorious church bells echo through the morning air, awakening the sleeping with its musical, inviting tone. It lights her eyes, and a small, yet very visible twinkle stretches throughout them. It engulfs them, creating a strange, yet beautiful artistic look, as if she were painted by Picasso. Each stroke bringing out her utmost beauty, exciting my need to keep her image deep, and remember it for eternity. The twinkle enlarges, captures my eyes, soaring me to a magical world, somewhere no one can find. For by grasping a hold on my subconscious, I can create any reality I desire. She opens the doors, allowing the light to flow around us, making the entire room feel like home.

She turns, I stop. She walks, no—dances across the ground, almost as if she’d pranced across shallow water. Magical, soft. Calming. I don’t look away, in fear her illustration may be stolen. Everything around me disappears, fades, and blends into grays and blacks. Yet the sight of her cascades against them like the sun against the polluted sky of a city. She lights it, breaks through it, and shines.

And just as I begin to open my mouth, my eyes break open, and she vanishes from my thoughts. I panic. My heart races, and I long for one more minute glance at her spectacular being, her magnificent features. I wish to live in her calming atmosphere, revolve around her motherly aura.

The beautiful sight of her still remains painted across my eyes, taunting my inner self, and making me feel alive, yet dead. For its pure elegance and unbelievable beauty has left me blinded.