Another Dream

This dream that I can remember is a phenomenon from the moment I wake because it’s rare that I could recall me dream far-after I had (unfortunately) risen from slumber. I can pinpoint certain points of the dream that felt oddly familiar, from streets, to shops, to voices. Yet, when I woke, i probably on had been asleep for less than an hour. The oddest outcome to me is how I can still recall how I felt, above all else, even if it’s already been a year. What does that say about my dream? What does that say about me? Or what does that say about what’s happening around me? I could get deep down into the inner workings of my subconscious, but it’s obvious that recently getting over a break-up, sleeping in a bed that’s not mine, and getting over a past-lover, does a great number on my consciousness. There happens to be an overwhelming sigh of relief like receiving a letter from a woman that you have avoided because they happen to fall under the category of a “lifelong crush.” You are brought into a whirlwind of repressed emotions depending on which side of the break-up you fall under. This is not exactly a “break-up entry,” but it seems to have culminated into the softening poison of the single life.

I say, softening poison, because do we all enjoy being alone after being attached? Is there a difference between detachment and lonerism? Why does music sound better when our emotions are stirred? Why does it hurt more trying to fall asleep, compared to waking up alone? It all depends.
So it’s this delicate dying we endure, and I may speak from subjectivity because I’m soft spoken, out spoken, a mute to most, if you will, and it’s never in my place to say what I feel unless it’s campfire-group-therapy time. And let’s face it, no one wants to hear you whine about a dead-end relationship that they saw coming.

Come to think of it now, I might as well continue this on a new post. This started as a dream I had, and through the tendency to examine my thoughts prior to typing them, it ended up being a release of the sub-consciousness and fuck, do I need to write to a friend at this point because as you can tell, I have a lot to say.

Who cares at this point. Pretend this is all fiction. In a long enough lifetime, we’ll laugh.

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