These dreams that come when my head is on the pillow have nothing on the ones I experience when my eyes are wide open. It's a beautiful life this string of daydreams. There are far away places and some very near. There is New York, always New York. There are memories of when our eyes first met through that Starbucks window and that morning when I finally held him in my arms as he took his first breath and looked at me with eyes that are mirrors of my own. Some are delicate and have become slippery from the effects of time, and some are vivid and buoyant with the hope that I carry for the future. They are real like photographs, always sartorial, and never compromising.
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