Beautiful, involuntary delusions.

I find myself daydreaming with increased frequency these days.  And it's not the kind of daydreaming you'd do on your couch, or at work.  It's different.  Every time I daydream, I get closer to being in the dream.  It's not like I'm drifting away into REM sleep.  I'm awake, totally.  At first it was something happening subconsciously, but now it's conscious, though not entirely voluntary.  I don't why I want to relive my memories so badly, but that's just how it is.  I feel I have to do it, just like I have to eat, drink or sleep. 

It's happened to me while driving down the highway.  It was just after sunset, at that fleeting point in time where the sun has set, but the lower portions of the sky are still drenched in citrusy light.  Something struck a chord somewhere, because I started making changes.  I changed my seating position slightly, as if I were in an airplane, looking out the window.  I put on my favourite track, that very same one I was listening to on that plane.  A smile spread across my face, bringing a change in expression to the one which I had on that very best of flights.  My dark brown paper coffee cup because smaller and more flexible.  It now read Air Sahara, Emotionally Yours, and had a little fold out handle.  It contained the most fantastic concoction I can remember having.  It was sweet, salty and sour all at the same time, but not annoyingly so.  It's as if I could taste, and appreciate each of those qualities individually.  With it was a card, explaining the contents of the impossibly refreshing beverage.  It detailed how various exotic fruits, pepper and a whole bunch of other things came together in this drink from a previously-undiscovered rural part of the country.  Marketing mumbo-jumbo aside, there was some sort of amazing cosmic contrast at work at this particular moment, in which I took sips of the exotic nectar and looked out the window to a seemingly vast desert, drenched in the red-orange hue of the setting sun.  I was able to pick out beautiful pink landmarks, and as my eye followed the terrain, it didn't end, but rather became one with the horizon and sky at an indistinct point.  Not a modicum of worry or stress, and no thoughts of any kind in my head.  But it's not real.  At least not in the present.  The onset of reality begins.  I realize that I'm not looking at that same Rajasthani sunset over a desert, but rather a cold starless night over a frozen, flat landscape.  And I'm about to miss my exit.  I readjust my driving position, because it is that and not a sitting position, and try to readjust to the current reality.  It's only a matter of time before it happens again, and next time, it'll be even more real.