My dreams on fire

I had a dream once as I laid on the couch.

I reached up and following the tips of my fingers,

fire sprung;

carving lines in the air,

which remained until I finished then went to perch on the wall waiting to see what I would do next.

If it hadn't been a dream I would have worried for the building and the air being stolen from my lungs.

Thankfully it was,

and I responded in the normal nonsensical fashion and took it in stride;

it was nothing but one of those things,

that sometimes happens to happen,

on occasion.

I lay there expectant and fascinated.

Stories I'd been trying to tell my entire life poured from me with simple wrist flicks.

There were words,

so beautiful they have never been spoken;

pictures,

and feelings became transposed into light.

After the stories ended out came the memories,

then the secrets,

then all things I had forgotten.

Any emotion or moment that ever pressed my heart flew out
and shone for the whole world to see.

With every recollection or flight of fancy that left me I grew light,

a child's balloon released from small fingers in a moment of distraction.

Each piece of space that burned
left me that much more hollow until my soul became clear.

Then, just as I felt the fire might spread
from my fingertips to consume the shell of what remained of me,

I awoke.