I See

In dreams, I see bubbles, filled not with helium but with misplaced optimism that you would make the date, slay dragons, walk that extra mile, present me not with crinkly papered roses but with baskets of bluebells, handpicked, lovingly arranged, or sequester time for the Braille garden so I may trace the words I cannot see bubbles, filled not with fresh air from a child's puckered lips but with illusions cast adrift to wander and wonder and then without sound, to explode, splashing my face with no mention of all the days I have waited scratching walls as I negotiate the paths of my new life, clutching at dreams you never had rainbow tinted soap bubbles pop, pop, popping without concern for my loss of vision, the dull oneness of it all. the web that robs me of the essence of the you, who once saw the beauty inside me and now sees nothing but my lack of seeing. but I see.