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tinted dreams

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It smells fresh and clean here, like sheets that are left to dry on a decade long sunny afternoon. And when they are back on the bed, the warm, sleepy smell of sunshine still lingers, tinting dreams with the peachy golden hues of a watercolor sunset. But it's morning now, and my mind has released the hazy dreams of the night from its clutches. I have memories that are blended together with my dreams and I cannot separate the two. So they stay intertwined, twisted together like ivy climbing up tree bark, only resurfacing in unclear moments of deja vu. Arriving with the ebb and flow of the tide, there are photographs in my head of places I'm sure I've been to, and things I'm sure I've done, but I cannot remember when or how, or even why. Perhaps that's why I love the sun so--it brings forth hazy recollections that I didn't even know I had.