Nothing's More Beautiful Than Being In Love.

I dreamed about her again last night. Wasn't exactly the kinda dream I'd commit to memory as something to cherish for a long time coming. If I had a choice, I wouldnt' want to dream something like it ever again. The theme was too domestic, when it should have been romantic. It should have been a dream where you'd see me and her singing and dancing on a meadow somewhere in Switzerland, changing into different clothes for every scene to match every stanza in a song that could last anywhere between twelve minutes to half an hour.

In the dream, I got home from somewhere. I go into a bedroom and find her prancing about as happy as a princess who has nothing in the world to worry about. In the dream, I remember being angry. Who wouldn't? She's got the room in a mess, laundry heaped into a bundle, batik sarung all over the floor, my shirts coming out of a dresser, shoes and socks strewn about all over.

Can't figure where all this came from. Don't know how it got here. It ended in a flash, the way it started. A scene frozen to a still.

What do you make of it?