It is said that you may only dream of faces that you have seen before. Each time you see a face, you must store it away in your unconscious repertoire. Lingering silently until your brain decides to slip someone into the middle of your peaceful dream. Sometimes they’re indifferent. Other times they are magnificent. Occasionally they are bad. Last night I dreamt of a man, the perfect man, and he cradled the ocean in his arms, rocking her to sleep, singing a lullaby. He looked up at me and said, “Isn’t she beautiful? Can you believe we made something so beautiful?” He spoke as if the sea was our child. As I awoke, I found myself muttering; “If only I knew you, I know I could love you.”
