The Anatomy of a Daydreamer
"Anatomy of a soul that has detached from the logic of the earth. By replacing the face with a cloud, the dreamer loses the ability to speak to the world, but gains the ability to exist within it as pure imagination. It depicts the exact moment where human thought becomes too vast for a human frame and simply spills over into the air."
3:00 AM. The silence in this room is heavy with the things we aren't saying. I sat down to draw you, or maybe us, but my hand refused to sketch a face. Faces have eyes that cry and mouths that have to explain why things are breaking.
Instead, there is this. A blue spill.
My thoughts of you have become so dense, so saturated with this "heartbroken blue," that they’ve finally outgrown my skull. It’s easier this way to let my head dissolve into a cloud where I can drift through our memories without having to face the cold reality of where we are right now. My body is still here, sitting at this desk, but my mind has officially left the earth. It is a heavy, beautiful burden to carry a storm of you wherever I go.
I’ve started sleeping more lately. Not because I’m tired, I’m wide awake but because reality has become a place I no longer want to occupy. Dreaming is the only "satisfying" space left. In that blue haze, the distance between us doesn't exist. There, I don't have to deal with the "harshness" of the daylight or the way your name feels like a bruise on my tongue.
So, I’ve turned my head into a permanent weather system. I’ve made the cloud a vital organ, a part of my very anatomy. If I can’t have you in the waking world, I’ll just keep building this atmosphere until I’m completely submerged in it. People think I’m "lost" in thought, but they don't realize I'm actually "finding" you there. I’m just a body grounded by gravity, waiting for the next time I can close my eyes and disappear into the only place where we still make sense.
But the sun always finds its way through the curtains eventually, and the blue mist has to settle. I realized I can’t live in the clouds forever if I ever want to build something solid on the ground. The reality is harsh, yeah, but it’s also the only place where I can actually reach out and touch what I’m dreaming of. So, I’m taking this anatomy this heavy, overflowing mind and I’m putting it to work. Every "what if" from my 3 AM sketches is becoming a blueprint now. I’m done just sleeping to see her; I’m waking up to build a world where those dreams don't have to be an escape anymore. The daydreamer is still here, but he’s finally opening his eyes.