The cast of characters were familiar: they were friends, family and acquaintances. No one seemed out of place nor did the events cause alarm. But as I tumbled through my dream into the morning I was disappointed. Why do I always have to wake up?
At first the memory was so vivid. Remnants of conversations rested on my tongue as well as the sounds and emotions from conversations that I had. But as I sit to write this I can't recall a single part of my dream.
Psychologists and Bible characters tell us that dreams can be interrepted: dreams can be a portal into our psyche. While I can't deny that claim, if it is true then I need serious psycho therapy. My dreams would scare Wes Craven.
Utopia is a place I visit when my body and mind take a break. I do not fear it nor do I think before falling into slumber "where will my dreams take me tonight?" But off I go, each night, into a surreal kind place. And I hate waking up.
When my eyes adjust to the morining light and the clock reminds me that it's time to wake up, I am filled with a bitter disappointment. The whole affair, the entire sum of my night's work is just a dream.
In those brief moments before sleep completely leaves me I desperately try to rush back. Although I know it's fruitless, I put all my effort into it just the same.
As I make my way to the bathroom, put on my morning clothes, my mind tries to recapture every memory before it completely fades away. And then it's gone.
No matter what I do it always ends the same way. My only solace, what I know to be true: it happens all over again tonight.