I’d dreamed a dream the night before.
Not just any dream. One of those dreams, where hope was high and the world was kind. You know the type of thing.
thoseI don’t usually remember my dreams; they’re normally vague, disposable flickers of imagination that skirt through my mind when I’m asleep. Involuntarily successions of sensation that never really mean anything to me. I’ve never been one of those people who go looking for deep, hidden meanings in their dreamscapes. They’re just there, and then they’re gone. When I wake, I’m like a child grabbing hopelessly at the morning mist, trying to contain a fistful of nothing. No matter how hard I try, there they go; my dreams, dispersing like the droplets. Slipping through my fingers. Over and out.
mean thereBut I remembered this dream. I dream
