tragedy

wretched dreams

i don't really know what i dream of. 

all i experience is the moment before i fall asleep, the sweet sounds of midnight pondering on my window and the stars whispering to one another as they gossip about the world beneath their feet, and the moment when i wake up, the cold, hair-raising air blowing kisses to my cheeks and the sun rising slowly as if also awoken haphazardly and wishes to lie in bed all day.

but apart from those moments, everything else is blank, a lost path never taken, a bottomless hole of no bravado and light.

perhaps i do dream, however it seems unlikely, but, if i do, it is momentarily and soon forgotten.

and i'm glad for that, too, i suppose, because dreams bring nothing but distraction, irritation, omens, and oblivion, a darkness i fear greatly. my forgetfulness of dreams are but a spectactular gift because dreams hold catalysts, things used to speed up a reaction. 

that makes no sense when written about but take it from me:

our demise and torture we will feel or have felt as human beings comes to us in time, no matter if it is fast or slow, long or short, promising or ominious. 

it will come. that much is inevitable. 

but dreams, those cruel, hellish things called dreams, are a catalyst for our destruction. they speed up our wishes, our hopes, our love.

and, you see, life has its own clock to follow. it won't go any slower or any faster for anything, so to speed up a process that could take eternities to complete would be a disaster, a car crash of millions, a death too accidental and painful.

our wishes become nothing more than crushed dirt beneath our feet and wretched ash in the palm of our hands.

our hopes become nothing more than neglected promises from those of "devoted" intentions and devious lies to the heart.

and our love is the worst of them all.

our love becomes nothing more than darkness, a fathomless, endless road of melancholy and rage and sadness and revenge and just pure, pure obilivion so sacred, divine, and painful to the soul that we end up in pieces that can never be put together.

people can try to piece you back, but it's never going to be the same. gluing, taping, stapling, stitching, sewing, anything back together will always have some sort of scar, some sort of reminder of what has happened and will never go away. we are so breakable, don't people know any better, but it happens and you break, always break.

and even after you heal, you're never what you were before.

i hope you understand what i mean now when i say i don't really know what i dream of.

but if you want a real answer, a guess, an assumption, the truth, an "anything" of what i might dream in the costly night, then here's what i dream:

i dream about you.

and because of that i hear life's clock ticking loudly in my ear and see the crashes of thousands of hundreds of cars and feel the ultimate agony that my heart beats to.

because of that, i fear dreams.

and, most importantly, us.