You Can Call Me a Dreamer...

I had the most fantastic dream last night. I started awake immediately after and scribbled it down so as not to forget it upon waking, but that turned out to be unnecessary. I remembered it wholly and completely, and needed to reference the scribbled-on post-it only once, to get the poem exactly right.

I think I may have been outcast royalty. The dress I was wearing was like a cloud, all swirling organza made of the most vivid orange and turquoise, only it was torn and tattered in some places. I was in a dark forest, but as dreams usually work, I was inexplicably transported to a completely white world. No shapes, no walls, just white all around me. No wind even, it was complete stillness. I figured I had died, but I reached out a hand in front of me. As I reached out, my finger touched something, and from where my finger had touched, black lace swirled out, covering the surface with lace. I had something like the Midas Touch, only my touch coated things with black lace, not turned things to gold. I was thrilled and ran around, touching the whiteness around me, revealing everything I could not see before. I was in a great big room, and the last thing I touched was a desk. As I ran my hand over the whiteness above it, books appeared, covered in lace as well, and I could not open any of them, as they were completely covered in lace. As more and more books appeared, I became bored and made to stop, but not before revealing one book. It was black, as was the rest of the world I had revealed around me, but it did not coat in lace, therefore making it able to open. I picked it up, and, curious, I opened it. It was a poem, scrawled in black on pure white pages, signed with my name. It read:
My eyes can only see beauty,

My ears can only hear song,

My lips move only to smile or kiss,

My touch belongs to everyone.
-E.B

I traced my fingers over the words, and lay down, isolated in my new world of whiteness and lace.

And then I woke up.