I dreamed

I dreamed I was a fire ant.
I dreamed I was small, red and angry.
I dreamed that you were my mother, and that you hovered in the hum of the fluorescent lights at the office.
I dreamed that the bartender knew my name and kept bringing me my favorite drink.
I dreamed in vivid technicolor.
I dreamed in soft, effervescent waves.
I dreamed the girl next door into my dream.
I dreamed that you were an abstraction of every sentence fragment I ever uttered, every secret thought I ever drove from my conscious mind, every hope I ever set aside for a little while, and then forever.
I dreamed that I was impossible, and then I was.