I hate when clichés are true, I really do hate it. The bullshit you never really think about being true like "you'll miss it when it's gone" nonsense.
I miss having nightmares, believe it or not. I used to have the most vivid of nightmares, you wouldn't believe it. That's why I miss them. The distinction between reality and mental reel was nonexistent, nearly parallel they were. A mirror of mere truth, repeated and interlocked with fear and insecurity.
God, the mind is so amazing. Only I can reach into my filing cabinet of fantastic (not as in wonderful but as in of fantasy) scenarios conjured up late at night in moments of weakness and vulnerability and display them graphically to my unconscious as I rest my weary eyes from a day in the life of similar nature. It's unintentionally sadistic, but the point of sadism is that one of you is enjoying it.
I sure as hell am.
YOU ARE READING
depreciation they claim
No Ficcióna collection of thoughts, assessments, dreams, observations, lusts, loves, unthinkables, oddities, morbidity, and dark yet comforting humor and perspective.
