Night walker

The dreams I had last are already fading, browning at the edges, rusty, neglected. They linger foggy and hazed in golden light- figures in front of windows that grow increasingly obscured. Faces lost by memory, I struggle to hold onto shreds of intangible scenes. 

Is it plausible to linger on nothingness for this long: Made up days in made up cities in the made up world of my mind. They burn my throat with a thirsty pang of nostalgia and make my stomach groan. Sometimes, I feel guilt weigh my waking hours from non-existent scenarios played out in my head. Scenarios that make no sense in the waking world. 

They say dreams are works of the unconscious... but they haunt my consciousness, throbbing in the back of my mind like a tumor. Although, it's bittersweet. I'm running miles in minutes, soaring effortlessly over land, my belly clenched in gravity that plays havoc in my sleep. Rivers and towns and underwater breaths in whole worlds made up from the synapses inside my skull. 

The mind can be a cruel thing- somehow my darkest fears bleed through with unrestrained pleasure. They penetrate clear water, making it dark and thick with weeds. But these, too, I know will end and when morning comes I welcome it kindly.


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