Dreaming

Dreaming

Like floating

In the impossible abyss of unknown.

Subconscious

Becomes conscious

Becomes something

Not quite reality

Not quite not reality.

Dreams are an in between

An invisible world

The gray world that belongs to you.

Why do we dream?

Does it mean something?

Like stress, translating into your dreams where you're late for a meeting?

Or anger, where you dream of betrayal?

Or sadness, where you dream of a forgotten blue world?

Or even the dreams of the book you're reading, with twists and turns and not-quite-characters?

And then the vivid dreams

The ones you can't forget

When you wake groggily with sleep inertia and curse your alarm

And forget

The dream you had last night.

And then someone

Says something

They said in your dream.

Then it all comes crashing back;

Every

              Little

                             Detail

And for me, these vivid dreams

Are the worst of all;

They could be so real

They feel so real

But they aren't

But I wish they were

But I wish they weren't

Leaving me with a muddled sense of reality

Not sure what is, what was, what could be.

Dreams

Twisting everything

Into sharp shards and even sharper shadows

Wet lightning and dry rain

Upside-down clouds and talking animals

Book characters come to life

The impossible, possible

The improbable, probable.

I like dreams

Because while you can't control them

They are the adventure

The nighttime adventure

The fun and crazy and spontaneous and weird

And none of it makes sense.

That's the point.