Dreams

I used to love my dreams.

I was proud of the vividness of my imagination and my ability to recall the images I'd seen in my sleep.

I would lucid dream. I could make bad things go away (most of the time). I could make myself fly. Even when I wasn't lucid dreaming I could recall things so clearly with such odd detail. I thought it was so amazing - like some symbolic other world. I would tell people about them and ask for their opinions on what they meant. I let my dreams tell me new things about myself.

I liked to study them. Wanted to understand how they expressed the inner workings of the mind. I would read about others' theories and experiences.

But now I resent my dreams. I hate them. I wish they'd stop.

My dreams show me things I want to see...then I wake up twice as hurt as I was before.
Sometimes even worse they show me things that hurt so bad I can't forget them.

I dream that nothing changed, that we're still together. Or I dream that we were able to get past everything...that we persevered. Then I wake up just to realize that there's still the possibility I'll never see or talk to him again.

I dreamt once that I had to watch him love someone else. I had to see him look into another girl's eyes the way he always looked into mine. I can't even describe the pain in that...even if it was just a dream. I don't know what I'll ever do if I have to see that in my waking life. The odd part of that dream, was that the other girl looked a lot like me. Even worse, they both just pitied me.

I don't know which type of dream is worse. Having what I want...holding his face in my hands...running my hands through his hair...Or watching the one I want wanting someone else...

It's not fair when all I want to do is sleep to forget and instead I fall asleep and get reminded. Every damn night. Every damn nap. I still wake up alone...