Dream

My dreams are weird films,
Of images wide and clear,
With messages hard to decipher,
Like it happened last night.

*

It shows me not planets but people,
Moments of life I’d like to be extraordinary,
Things I’d wish they would happen,
And it does this with such skilled fingers,
That I wake up sour and bitter.

*

It’s amazing that last night,
How precise my dream was,
Deprived of all the flaws,
Each event synchronized,
With my intense desires.

*

The words were precise,
Like I wanted them to be,
Which you possibly couldn’t see,
Because I kept them inside.

*

And for the first time I felt,
Dreams were better than reality,
But I hate them for their perfection,
And for plundering the inside of me.

Note: This actually happened, for real. I wish I could describe you how wonderful it was. And since it was such a perfect dream I could not find an equally perfect picture. And the words I wrote are the mere projection of how I felt. 

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9 thoughts on “Dream

  1. This is totally relatable. I’m not sure if you read my posts on the couple dreams that I had, but they were definitely perfect and enjoyable, and even more vivid than reality.

    Then I woke up. It was a terrible feeling; I practically threw a fit because all of that experience is now gone forever, you see?

    Like

    • I know, right? I hated waking up too. I wanted to just float in that bubble of my dream and like continue doing that. I even tried to relive my dream when I woke up but obviously that didn’t work.

      I hated that dream to be so perfect and sort of envied and marveled at it too.

      Thank you for reading. 🙂

      Like

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