Fast Forwarding.

I'm going to wake up soon. I know that soon, I'll be back on dry, familiar soil and sitting in traffic. And I know it's going to happen. I know that in two months, two weeks, I will wake up in my own bed again, see my face in mirrored-closet doors, and wonder what's for breakfast. Most of the day, I will forget my dream. And then at one instant, in one moment, in one familiar face and at the sight of one cup of coffee, the dream will come back to me. It will be a recurring one. And every day, in every moment, I might remember this ten-and-a-half month dream. No one ever said that dreams had to make sense. No one said they were all clear, all perfect, all happy. I don't think that dreams and nightmares are opposites. I just think nightmares are stories you're glad you've woken from. And you want to forget them.

I don't want to forget this dream. In fact, I won't allow it. Things won't have happened chronologically. Or logically, for that matter. Because that's not truth. Yet this truth won't make sense to anyone because they can't see all the faces I saw, and they can't remember the sequences that I did. I always think no one believes me whenever I retell my dreams. It's because they become sporadically clear, then sporadically opaque, in, well...a sporadic moment. And I lose credibility. "It happened, it really did." They don't want to hear about it anymore though. We never want to hear about dreams we haven't seen ourselves.

And so I will sit with these visuals. And I will relive them over and over in my head until I hear someone calling me out of a distant trance. And I will go to them, eager to share of my visions. And they will remind me, "I've just woken up, too."