In My Dreams

I woke up this morning with leftovers of a strange dream still lingering on the fringes of my mind and I thought to myself, "It's funny sometimes, the things you think in your sleep. The bits and pieces you're left to wake up with. Sort of like a puzzle where you have to figure them out, and put them together to make a coherent statement. The things that don't make sense, and the things that do and how in dreams they always manage to combine themselves all into one continuous story."

For months I haven't been remembering my dreams. I'm not sure I've even been having any. But this past week, it's as if someone has turned my dream faucet back on, and every morning I wake up with new technicolor images in my head, foggy images, and memories of conversations I've had but have never had. It's like they've been gone so long they're trying now to make up for lost time. So many of them crammed inside my head, bursting at the seams to get their story out, or educate me with their images. And I'm convinced that my dreams are manifestations of my internal dialogue at work. Things I need to approach head on, deal with, or keep holding out for hope for. It's all there when I close my eyes, like a sigh of relief of finally being able to say all the things that need to be said.