I do dream. The ones I remember best are the ones that I wish I could forget.
Dreams that were conjured up as a child, dreams that occur over and over.
Dreams that make me cry, dreams that I long to keep forever.
Dreams of the future with people missing distinct features.
I have dreams that make me want to crawl in my mother's bed like I did as a child.
I have dreams that wake me up, and I know sleep will no longer bring me comfort.
Dreams so beautiful and breathtakingly vivid that make me never want to wake up.
Dreams that make me see the true horror of reality.
That my world of dreams is so much nicer, even with the nightmares that lurk in the shadows, around the corners, and in the alleyways.
The world of my dreams is far lovelier once compared to the world I truly live in.
Yet both frighten me.
I do dream and in my dreams I weep.
I weep and I laugh.
I laugh and I talk, and I scream, and I yell.
And in 8 hours I go through story after memory until I wake and forget.
