I hadn't put too much thought into it. I had pulled over on the side of the road, and started walking on the path that led to the lake. It was a horribly foggy day. I would crash into something soon enough, so I got out of my car and drifted off instead. It wasn't a long walk at all to reach the water. Just a quick, simple journey over a concrete bridge and I found the bank, stopping to look over the wide flat surface of the body of water.

Lavender cascaded down from a few of the surrounding trees, the floral scent spread out over the lake. The air was like a thick perfume, however it wasn't as stifling. It cleansed my body as I breathed in and breathed out. In the process I became it. Something clean and pure.

The fog further boxed in the lake in conjunction with the trees creating a flawlessly smooth stage. The solid white sky was reflected on the surface, only the mirrored image of the trees let me know where the horizon converged. Despite this confusion, it was a fine stage as any other. On the top of the water was a tall figure, obscured by the heavy haze. The outline of their figure was still identifiable. They moved swiftly and smoothly over the surface. Gracefully, they strided over the still water. They did not dance. They left no wake. Their contour was so delicate, it morphed and bent, but never was it not lovely. Their flitting footwork was quick and precise to the millimeter. Fluid with purpose and conviction, and never did they stop their performance. Before I knew it the water was up to my waist, I seemed to have forgotten that water could not be walked upon no matter how effortless it seemed to that being, so delicate they were held up by the surface tension. Compelled by that figure, I had come this far. I was in my work apron, if I continued to draw closer soon the water would be up to my neck. It wasn't worth killing myself over.

But, ah. It was so lovely.

My eyes drew open, drowsy, my head lay on the counter. I had drifted off in the flower shop. I had never smelled anything in my dreams like that before, at least I had never noticed such. But perhaps it wasn't so unusual, after spending so much time in this space that smelled like stem cuttings and crushed petals.

“But that's not the same thing, it's not beautiful.” A tall person had said, they stood next to me in perfect posture, like a vine weaving through a trellis.

I didn't mind their words, as soon as I turned my head I couldn’t stop looking at the curve of their neck. It was like the golden ratio, a perfectly designed contour, it must’ve required years of practicing fine motor control in order to draw the line that made up that nape.

“It’s all just flowers.” I replied

“A rose by any other name? But this is more like wisteria and hyacinth.”

I supposed so, and I supposed I had opened my eyes again. My face was still on the counter and I shot up quick. Had I been dreaming? I tried to remember the words, but drawing close only made the outline more blurry.

Well, how it goes. When something was gone it was gone. It was late enough to close now.

On the outside of the shop there was a neon sign that was now shut off. Normally it would glow a bright pink. Delightfully nostalgic on the side of a plainly painted corrugated metal warehouse. It reminded me to make another trip to Calico's tomorrow. I must go there four or five times a week at this point. My close friend works there as a chef, and almost no one else visits the place. It's a shame really, I eat the same thing every time. It's always good, although it's always the same. He got a girlfriend recently though, that did change the taste. I guess I'm too bitter, not being first priority anymore. It's childish, but it sticks in my mouth and I can’t get it to leave. Well. The point was I wanted that soft pink light. It was good and dark over here, the flower shop was on the side of the warehouse, as far away as it could be from the road while still being visible from it. The streetlight couldn't stretch itself down here, I could only watch the insects mindlessly circle the light from a distance. I was still dazed, it's unfair for a dream to hold such weight over reality. But hm, that figure. Perhaps there was hope for me. Actually, perhaps I was losing it, putting my hopes into apparitions.

I gazed upward, there was a trail that ran parallel to the side of this warehouse that separated it from a line of residential homes. Other warehouses extended down along the path as well, industry, nature, and suburbia all on a fine line. The trail was meant to be closed after sundown for safety. And it could be true, that I could be the first person found to have tripped and drowned in an one inch puddle. But at the same time a late night walk could serve to clear my head. I didn't really care. I trudged up the hill to the paved path.

The linear trail was a dark corridor, trees bent towards the center on both sides creating a shifting ceiling. Moonlight still managed to pour through the leaves to create faint spots of contrast dappling the asphalt path. It was a very easy walk, just move forward, and so I did. There wasn't much of note to see at this time of day.

And there wasn't, until I reached an overpass, a black mass in the distance that now overcame me as I got closer. Finally standing under it, it blocked out the little light that was left. Where I was standing under the road, under me was another underpass where a small stream crossed. On my left was the parallel line of warehouses, and on my right was the line houses. So many layers, how many could really be needed?

The sound of flowing water was quite pleasant, and so I made my way over to peer over the side of the railing. In my pocket was some loose change, I rubbed a particular quarter with my thumb four times. Recently I had started praying to a god of my own invention. Surely no god that had already been prayed to could save me. No it had to be my own, a god of loathing, a god of love, a god of vitriol, a god of patience. My thumb moved over it one last time. I set up a coin toss and flicked the quarter over into the water. The sound of a wind chime from a nearby house was carried on the air. Lines of light that managed to filter through the trees and under the overpass scattered over the stream. It moved over the stones quite particularly. Originally I attributed this to a trick of my sight, my brain interpreting movement in the unstimulating darkness. But no, something in the stream started to swell, it was interrupting the smooth form of the water. Gradually, slowly, from a low writhing mass it unfurled to its full height. It had a tall figure, the lines of its body was as stunning as the laminar flow of running water, dazzling curves and contour, natural and flawless. They now rested on top of the ever moving stream as if it was natural law.

I found myself leaning further over the railing. I should be careful. The figure never stopped moving, not really, I could still tell. It was lovely. But it wasn't something worth killing myself over.

But really, I tell you really, it was lovely.

And my hand gave out from under me.

I jerked up in bed, shutting the book I was holding in my own hand. The sort of slip you feel when you start drifting off. My eyes had been tired for a good while, I had probably read the same line four times over before I started falling asleep, and I read it over a fifth time as I grabbed my bookmark and shut the book for good.

Maybe I really was going to lose it, but it was time to rest.

So I shut my eyes and dreamed.