I Painted a Picture on My Window

I painted a picture on my window. A picture of warm colors. I dipped my paint brush into the pallet over and over again, a pallet of yellows, pinks, and a vibrant orange. Then blue. I painted the ocean. It was crisp, cool, inviting.

After sitting on the balcony for quite some time, I opened my window and climbed back through.

I stared at my window until I seemed to be staring out my window. Not at opaque paint, but at a transparent pane of glass that separated me from the ocean on the other side. The wind began to blow and the water began to move and the grains of sand began to dance and the grass on the hills began to sway. And I began to laugh. This is where I was supposed to be and now it was finally where I found myself. The reality that would have been if only we hadn't been forced to stay inside. I created that reality with a paintbrush.

The train that would have taken me to California had left the station long ago. The job that awaited me there was gone too.

The dreamers dream in California, and the dreamers dream of California and the dreamers who dream in California.

I dug my toes into the sand, the soft, warm sand. I walked towards the water. The waves rolled steadily to the shore one by one, cascading their white foam onto the sand. I felt the cool water tickle my toes. In the distance, the mountains towered. They held a humble power within them. They didn't ask for attention, they didn't reach towards the sky expecting to be praised for it, they reached towards the sky because it was in their nature to do so. I felt small looking at the vast ocean and the tall mountains, until I looked too high. My eyes ran into the edge of my window, a constricting piece of wood. It pulled me away and back into my bedroom.

The dreamers dream in California, and the dreamers dream of California and the dreamers who dream in California.

The painted ocean on my window merged with the tear in my eye. And in my vision, a storm brewed. The waves came faster and faster. The mountains were covered with clouds.

The rain began to fall in Illinois too, as it has been frequently for the past month. My California dream was slowly washed away. The warm colors streamed downward until they were gone.

I was left looking at a suburban scene. A gray road lined with houses. A cloudy sky, a few green trees. On the other side of my window was reality and I was forced to see it again. My job in California was cancelled, the lockdown in the state extended. When would I be able to go there? That was a question I could not answer in the moment. I closed my eyes.

Then I opened them again. Outside my window, beyond the gray clouds, a glimmer of sunlight was pushing its way through. Struggling, but struggling successfully, forcing the clouds to part.

Somewhere in California, the dreamers were dreaming. Not on my window but in reality. Someday another train would come into the station, and I would be ready to board it. California was not gone, it was waiting for me, far away on the other side of my window.

The dreamers dream in California, and the dreamers dream of California and the dreamers who dream in California.

I would just have to dream a little longer, but one day it would all become a reality.