Fever Dreams

While sick, I went to sleep trying to think of the perfect story. I spent the whole night dreaming in colors, each thought a string of blue or red or green or orange flying away from me and then yarning up all around, out of my reach and yet somehow scraping against my head, pressing me inwards so that even more colored string burst out until I could see only shapes -- but not shapes like we're taught. Nothing measurable. Formless forms. A geometrical freakshow of thought baked at 103.