Day Dreamer
I often find myself in a dream, playing stories in my head, avoiding the rut of day-to-day life. Imagining worlds too bold to live off paper. As my hands sink deeper into dishwater, I let my mind drift away. The suds climb from wrist to forearm, the temperature matching my skin. The water soon covers the clutter of plates and bowls. The running water a white noise: static pixelating a white framed life. I let my body go heavy, and soon numb. An aroma of salt and wet oak rises, transporting me far from reality. The sound of crashing waves rushes over, I'm floating away again, further into the clouds of creativity. Body still, in shallow breath, time is non-existent here. I could live a thousand lives before my return. I rather live here, than my grey world, dull in life's mundane regularities.