What happens when a dream is not just a dream?
I wasn't supposed to remember him.
He wasn't supposed to know my name.
It goes against everything I've learned about how the brain works.
Dreams don't leave bruises and they certainly don't remember you back.
But somewhere between memory and silence,
between what's real and what's not,
we keep finding each other.
He says we made a promise.
I'm starting to think maybe he's right.
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