All my mind lays over in remembrance is the hug.

Just a dream, just a fantasy, just laid over in front of you like a clear vision yet driven by your dreamy back of the eyes imagination, it is all such a memorable company wherever you are.

When the dream was over, on the struck of daylight, I was afraid that everything will be diminished and shuttered eventually once the sunny morning came dropping by as a beautiful, advanced spring April day.
That's what happened, and I was left so bewildered by it all.
You see, when destiny has you European born, even more of a someone who cherishes his or her moments in a kind of a French scholastic atmosphere of the college style simply called lycee, everything is bound to be of a certain sentiment... romantic, vulnerable or either tough yet soft.

... This is what happened to me...

... because all I could picture was that hug...

... Mariah...

... Mariah Carey...

When your dreams cover such stars, striking will your remembrance be. And when you come to rest inside those thoughts that play inside these dreams, to a wonder will your moments be defined over the lines of your memory.
This singing sensation could have created a lullaby... and that's what she's sung unto my heart. She could have also designed a beautiful, tantalizing tessellated story to go along with the lullaby in tone with the dream... she's done that...

... I was not to be done into it, that was the sad part...

... because all I could visualize and sense was a close, friendly hug...

The foggy remembrance of the dream specifies that there were more than one person present in one, possibly called, apartment somewhere, or was it a house, a villa by the busy yet silenced in the afternoon highway, I cannot tell as completely I'm under some spell.

You know, just think of a beautiful summery moment as students, perhaps the girls more than the boys are holding their books and notebooks close and tight to their chest; as well, imagine the romantic walk that two students shyly enroll themselves in and occasionally they hug each other so sweetly and so collegial friendly.
I am a boy, not a girl, but sometimes I am so emotional that some would have the boldness to characterize me with the girls... that's O.K. because it's so beautiful and cheerfully romantic.

Engulfed in those specific feelings, I was melting in the motion of it all...

... That's the way she was hugging me...

... we were talking about something, I cannot remember what, some friendly chat here and there...

... and she was encircling me with her arms so collegial like, just as I explained...

... Now, it needn't no explanation to emphasize the feeling...

... but now that I think of it, it's so funny how I wasn't a stranger or someone sensing the
shivers of a first time meeting between a fan and a superstar in where the fan always
dreams about this encounter...

... No...

... we were like two friends.

Dreams can erase themselves from our memories, sometimes the best features of them remain, maybe for a short while or maybe they're bound to last a lifetime.

This was not the first time I dreamed about this person, it was, as far as I can remember, about the third time in the past few months. I can picture the other dreams as friendly as this one, yet I can't remember them; this one I decided to write about it and, as well, include the other two in a way into these lines out of this dream.

Always poetic about it, I like to be left in a wondering state after a movie or a scene like this... or a dream like this.
So, I wonder... as I have listened to her music, as I have been inspired by her songs, as I have learned about her dedications, as I have come to know her amicable character, as I have written poems that seem like lyrics to a certain kind of melodies while having her voice and rhythm in my mind, I wonder... what next?... Will I meet her?... what next?... Will I get to collaborate with her in bringing these songs to life and dedicate them to one of our precious affections - the children?... what next?... Another dream, yet this one with my eyes wide open?...

®DC, 1998