Dreams

The dream is back.

It’s a not-quite nightmare. It’s so realistic, so sensory. I have a nagging feeling, a sneaking suspicion even, that it is real.

I wish I could explain how this dream affects me, how much it stays with me, how I hate my eidetic memory at times like these. The starkness of the sheer terror it imparts, I see continually, with crystal clarity, long after the actual imagery leaves me.

It makes me feel like a small boy again, when the dark is so frightening and monsters lurk in every shadow.

There is no one to run to, no one that can make the fear disappear with whispered words and smiles.

Ominous.

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