The dream, it was pink and it smelled like running out the door, past another load of laundry, the detergent scent wafting from the machine, someone’s borrowed my drying rack again, and someone else’s risotto is sizzling in that kitchen I don’t like, no windows, but the living room I love, with the big white couch, a gathering couch, there where we’re all eating and laughing, friends that come in and out, we dance we sing, there are lemon-themed parties and red wine spilled and secret kisses, and we roll around until someone’s laundry is ready at 3 in the morning, the beeping sound hurts our ears and the coffee hurts my stomach, and the basilica’s bells ring and rebound and wake me up and I inhale the senses and savor them as I tilt my head to the sweet notes that walk me back to the land of the living.