Sometimes I am flying through an orange sky and taste the autumn air
Then I am on my balcony on the 900th floor, where I inhale deeply from a cigarette and look out over an alternate universe that I discovered, of all places, in a playground’s tunnel slide.
Then I dance with abandon to a song that plays as it is written inside my head.
I stretch my legs, my arms, my toes.
And the orange sky is gone
And the strange wildlife below are fading
And I am lying in a bed in a basement apartment.
Sometimes my dreams are as real to me as the pillow beneath my head
And I return from them and think
Maybe I’m dreaming now of this basement apartment
And my life is still happening on that 900th floor
And this breakfast
This conversation
This kiss goodbye and drive to work
Will seem so magical and strange from my view atop a tall tall balcony
So I’ll inhale them now like my dream cigarette
Like I’m going to wake up at any moment
and find they’re all gone,
like smoke
like a whisper
like a forgotten dream
and I’ll try to remember that everything is extraordinary to someone
so why not my life
to me?
