A Beautiful Disaster

It's such a strange thing when you dream about a person in your past; a person who stole so much affection from you at a time. It always hurts in the morning when you remember that they exist only in yesterdays and that no matter how brilliant the dream, it was neither real nor present. They will never do for you in reality what they would do for you in lucid dreams. They could never love you in consciousness like they can love you in slumber. They can never be what you so needed them to be... and dreaming about them the way you wish to see them only hurts when sentient.

Dreams can be so lovely and yet so devastating. They gently stir sleeping memories that were laid to rest for reason. They leave you with the work of suppressing that nostalgia once more only to be faced with the knowledge that it may only be a matter of time before the memory is revived again to taunt you.

It’s a bittersweet thing, dreams. A double-edged sword – you hate to remember the love you must forget. And yet, despite the consequence of the dream when you wake, for a moment you can be truly vulnerable to your past. You can really live with no regard to your future, as it exists only as you see it.

Truly, dreams are a beautiful disaster.