Do you ever stop dreaming if you never wake up? If I were to say that in this moment, engulfed in my greatest desires, I had my eyes closed long enough for you to be convinced that I had drifted off, could anything that I experience be that of a dream? I would like to think so. Entranced in the drug that is her own beauty, she lies on the beaten sand knowing the sun just can’t get enough of her. Really no one can. She tells me she enjoys my company, but I can tell by the way her eyes never completely meet mine, that another person has her attention. Blue eyes like that of the ocean floor have become a cliche squeezed into one too many novels, but when you see them for yourself you will think otherwise. It’s California- the girls look for their piece of eternal sunshine, yet here I am staring into it hoping, screaming that I will find mine. My sunglasses fit too well, and I am forever alone with synesthesia telling me that her ineffable nature, seen with closed eyes, is an inescapable screeching much like that of a car avoiding it’s destined, but far too innocent target.