Do the blind dream?

 Do the blind dream? If Yes, how? In bursts of imagination; in vivid colour or shadows? Do they find dreamland more fascinating than reality?

These thoughts flickered through my head as I made Ikemefuna's dinner. You see, he had told me countless times that I was only good for the kitchen...and for procreation perhaps. His genes were so perfect they would hide my imperfections, he said. 

He had said it so many times I believed him. Now I no longer had the urge to paint; my brushes and easels lay by the corner of the guest room covered by dust.

I no longer had visions, those bursts of ideas from where my paintings were birthed. I was blind.

If I closed my eyes and slept, would I be transported to a world where I could see?