dreams and a pitter patter sunrise

She closed her eyes, and there right before her she could see it. The world, hers, revolving around her. The carnival unicorn on the merry-go-round whisks past to jump over a rainbow and the striped candy-man spins a cotton candy. All this whisked past her, in black and white, silently. Like a silent film, yes. She did not know why tears began welling up but they did and she pursed her lids shut, reluctant to open them, and she forced the images to keep rolling before her. And they did, over and over like a silent, broken record.

Shower me with dreams, was her prayer. Were those the only things she was capable of dreaming up? Her dream-gear is somewhat stuck in reverse and she feels, helplessly the incapability of dreaming something new for herself. Monocolour unicorns from carnivals are cliched, they are from Mary Poppins, and even Mary Poppins was in colour! She could very well go on with life, of course, after all dreams were just dreams, they had no value whatsoever to living, do they? And yet, shower me with dreams she prayed.

And the film reeled on.

here we go looby-loo,
here we go looby-lie,
here we go looby-loo,
all on a Saturday night

And there they were, putting their right foot in and out the circle. And then the rhyme stopped and all she could see were laughing faces, and her, doing it all wrong. She could not hear them after all, and so she did it all wrong and they were all laughing out loud at her, except she could not hear them. She opens her eyes and rubs them. When was the last time she saw things in colour, she thought, everything about her was gray. Black and white, and gray. Not even blue. How she longed to see the blue blue sea, and the blue blue sky again. But that is her world now, monocolour. Shower me with dreams, colourful dreams, she prayed.

Pitter patter sunrise on the attap roof
pitter patter raindrops in the sun
rainbow coloured arch over the attap roof
fly baby fly into the sky

She looked enviously around at the ones who saw things in colour and she came close to crying, but not again, not tears again. And so she sat on the couch in the middle of the glass house waiting for the day her eyes would see the rainbow. As her eyelids began to feel heavy under the noonday sun she let them droop and she closed her eyes and tried to remember the last time she saw a rainbow. She tried to remember, she longed to remember the days where dreams came easy, and her eyes saw the rainbow.