I dreamt I was blind.
All the sound of the world,
in that one
single moment of
eternity, became all-encompassing.
The song I was playing
before I drifted to sleep
echoed in repeat—
one line stuck in my head.
Oh! And about the blindness—
it was as if
water played upon my eyes.
There were colors still,
but they were dizzying—
rays of light
all mashed together,
running like paint
on water
after the brush
lets itself be cleaned.
But I wasn’t aware I was.
All I knew—
something was stuck on my face,
and I couldn’t—
for the life of me—
open my childish eyes.
Yet their faint whispers still,
as if the moon reflected itself
on the dark, smooth, and silky
skin of midnight ponds.
I saw through the guise
that held my eyes—
a fraction of everything
became visible.
I wasn’t blind.
I was just crying.
There were tears in my eyes—
and beneath my eyelids,
they let rest
my tired sight.
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