Do you see me?

When I dream I remember all my other dreams. I just woke up and I remember them all and I must write down what I have seen before the memory fades.

I fly, like always. It is not winged flight; it is a strange, halfway swimming-like flight, close to the ground, dipping low. It's slow, I am not in full control. Almost always I am inside some building or some structure.

I always fly but nobody acknowledges the act of flying, as if it was completely normal.

I crave the recognition of the act of flying, I want someone to say: 'You're flying! My God!'

Instead, I ask the same question, always, night after night: 'Do you see me?' I sing this desperate line, over and over, I croon it.

Tonight I was in a movie theater with someone else. I don't remember who it was, the pictures fade fast. But there was a THING near the floor, like a seahorse, a withered rootlike body, a single stalk, a head with tight yellow skin and metallic burnished orange-yellow eyes, flat. It blinked once and I thought maybe it saw me.

I sang to it as I floated past, dipped once, touched the floor. 'Do you see me?' I tried to catch a glimpse of recognition within those orange-yellow eyes.

I woke up.