I dream in near-darkness, the deft spider of my untiring imagination tiptoeing over the cobwebs of my subconscious, fabricating intricate, impossible fantasies out of silver moonlight and silk the color of the stars. Indulgent reveries of requited romances and whispered words dance before my eyes, flickering between shades of white and blue and black, the infinite colors of night; they play among the threads of the spiderwebs within my brain, teasing and out of reach past my retinas, until inevitable shades of rose creep into the sky.
My vision swims with the growing shadows of reality, now barely obscured beyond the alluring fog of my desires, and my lashes flutter like the wings of birds before flight. The imaginative spider pauses, hesitating in its ardent dance. I take a steadying breath, blinking hard before actuality descends upon me with the light of day. As the sun stirs over the skyline, my heart heaves for all that it has lost, and all that can never be, laying just beyond the horizon and out of reach behind the clouds. The spider, painted pink and gold in the glimmering dawn, shivers, before melting into the shadows to return under the cover of night, and my dreams dissolve.