A friend sent me a peculiar gift last Christmas. On first glance after unwrapping it I was disappointed, a bland grey eye mask, Batman on a severe budget. Well, I guess if I ever wished to take a midday siesta I could count on it to block out some sunlight.

It was a month before I perused the mask again by chance, during my all too infrequent spring cleaning. Not completely soft, I found. Red lights flashed on the interior as I pushed the ‘concealed’ (yes it was) power button. Not one to usually to venture out of the comfortable, I decided to take my siesta.

I’m in a lush field, alone. She is there but I can’t see her. I desperately try to construct her face but it remains vague, wavy. Memories flood but with the same abstract pictures. A muffled laugh, a flash of a smile, a missed call notification. I try running, sprinting with no direction. A spider web of thoughts that I can’t fuse together.

Abruptly I wake, in a bath of sweat. I need to release the pincer-like grip sensation engulfing my head, and the chasm opens with a prick.

I really did love you. But then why can’t I clearly envision you, recreate you? I place myself on our beach. The sandcastles, the sea, the sprawling bridge in the distance are all vivid. But you are just a haze, fragments of warmth beside me, fragments of despair bobbing away in the ocean.

Sweating, I wake feeling faint but still resolute. Daily life is merely an interlude, a chore to pass through so I can enter the visual orchestra of my sleep.

I don’t need to travel anymore. My room, my bed envisioned perfectly. I simply am where I need to be. It feels good to really cry. To cry without the physical sensation. To scream without the limits of vocal chords. Once started, I decline to stop it. It really is emancipating. I have to feel this forever. A simple push of that concealed power button, a swift slash, and I can recline, a daydreamer forever.