Who is this woman I kissed in my dreams
With hair of painted gold and eyes of the sea?
Is she just a ghost and a vision of things
Or is she a prophecy of what’s meant to be?
What a strange line to wake in utterance of. Stranger still was the dream. There was a line, a contest of sorts, where each man approached and asked the same question, “My dear, may I have a kiss?” These were the rules, they’d been predetermined and all were content to oblige, that she would grant the request of but a single man there. So along moved the line, each man made his request. Along moved the line, she smiled at each, said nothing, stayed seated, and withheld her lips.
You might be wondering now how I came to this line. I don’t really know, don’t forget it’s a dream.
Alas, the line moved and each man turned away, the host yelled out encouragement, “It’s not your hair or your smile that she doesn’t like, but rather she’s waiting for just the right guy!”
Another odd note that I noticed while there, I was the last man standing in line. There were none behind me, I was the final request. There’s an assuredness I can’t explain that came over my soul, I knew who she’d pick and I knew it was I. She smiled and looked and kindly refrained the man’s offer directly before me. He walked on dejected and quite rather dismayed, but I had no time to wonder for my request must be made.
Before I could utter the eloquent words I had worked hard to prepare, she rose to her feet and step forward. Still unable to speak, I took grasp of her hands, leaned in and kissed her, and stepped back again. Her smile was joyful as she knew who I was, like a woman who’d seen me many times before. She was familiar and I was to her, as if the contest was rigged and we both knew the end. It was all just for show, we knew what we’d do, and without needing to say it, we had always been friends. She had simply been waiting for the others to pass by, just as I had been waiting patiently in line. So we both waited, without falter or fear, for each other to arrive and make it through the tedious queue. Upon this arrival, we knew who we were, without doubts and confusion, or figuring out. It only took that long wait to be become what You had in mind. Upon our arrival in front of each other we had been taught and grown and had been prepared, so it was a kiss so easily shared.
And then I awoke and left on to wonder: what did this mean, if anything at all? Yet those words still rang and carried along the thoughts so poetic they might be from a song:
Who is this woman I kissed in my dreams
With hair of painted gold and eyes of the sea?
Is she just a ghost and a vision of things
Or is she a prophecy of what’s meant to be?