Dreamer

I am up early on Valentine's Day listening to the Bowie station on Pandora and Stevie Nicks' voice comes on. I think of the lyrics to her song "Dreams" and sing them in my head.

"Now here I go again, I see the crystal visions
I keep my visions to myself
It's only me who wants to wrap around your dreams
And have you any dreams you'd like to sell?"

I have always been a wanderer and dreamer of sorts. I believe in the mystical. In spirituality. In prophecy and fate. In traveling to find yourself. In muses.

Lately, this need to be my truer self that I was has been haunting and hounding me. I am in the house more than I've ever been and I'm restless.

Sleep is a poor substitute for wandering and traveling. I fell asleep early last night and dreamt of Paris. In my dream, my husband and I are wandering the streets and parks of Paris holding hands like newlyweds. 

Then, my dream jumps and we're in the cemetery wandering and staring at gravestones. In my dream, I'm dressed like Stevie Nicks in a flowing skirt with purple scarves circling my neck, pink flowers in my hair and I'm dancing by Jim Morrison's grave. I'm twirling and the wind is whipping my hair.

I awake to the growling of my shih tzu and gingerly crawl out of bed. I want to stay in my dreams of other places. Of other universes. 

I want to be in a different and parallel world where I can drink my espresso in a beret and pretty dress instead of satin pajamas.

Hopefully soon, this pandemic dream/nightmare will end and I can take that trip and be the dreamer and wanderer that I was.