I've been having a lot of dreams though. Mostly because for the most part I spend my days sleeping on Michael's couch. It's amazing he hasn't kicked me out yet. I have been trying to be quiet and respectful of his space. Sometimes I just lay there watching him work on a new project. He has an intense life about him when he starts creating. You hear people talking about artists that put everything they are into their work and when I watch him I can see it. It becomes physical. His body leans in and out, lips purse and his brow furrows. His gaze is so intent that I think he blocks out sound because the only voice he can hear is the creative one inside his head. As he works, his body gesturing to his muse the room fills with energy. It becomes alive with activity. Aura's of intensity, passion, creativity, sadness, anger, lust, seem to swarm about clashing into one another until he's done and the room starts to quiet down, until finally it's still and I fall back to sleep.
I really don't have much of a choice but to sleep. It hits me with such ferocity that I become consumed and I can't deny it because I know that it's real. I know for the first time in a long time that this is how I feel and it's frightening. I forgot what life was like when it was as bright as it was dark. When moods were colors and those colors were just as luminous if it was red or if it was black. Right now everything feels as heavy as being hit by a ten ton truck and as apprehensive as I am, as withdrawn as I may seem to be right now. I don't want it to stop.