Sup3rnality

Friday afternoon. I am home after the weekly journey of railway transportations that, while too routine to be exciting, has never lost its flavour. Did not sleep much the night before, too occupied with the literature available at my disposal. Home meant rest, and I looked forward to taking full advantage of that.

Rest meant a cozy affair with pillows surrounding me, luring me into the arms of sleep. And so it did.

We dream. We all do. Every single time we sleep long enough to enter upon REM sleep, we dream. Even if we do not remember, we actually do. And for me, those dreams that seem the most real, the ones that I remember the most are the ones that are born of fatigue and weariness. And I remembered this one.

It's been a long time since I've had ones like this. The kind that you not only remember, but dwell on for days. And it's been a long time that such dreams were of lighthearted, heart-fluttering joy.

Too often have my dreams been of me leading a war; a leader on the frontlines tackling enemies head on alongside my legion, death on my heels. It scares me sometimes when the dream includes me looking into the wardrobe and thinking what I want to be wearing when I die fighting. Thinking of a million ways to say goodbye to my family. Trying to come to terms with my impending death.

And so the dream brought upon by tiredness was a reprieve from all the other typical dreams I would so often have. This was one that made me feel like I was 16 again.

And I can't tell exactly the contents of this dream. It's nothing that can be explained with words.

And words are never enough.

But I remember the feeling. It's like being 16, and 22 and 13 all at once. 16 for such mature immaturity, the memories the dream echoed and rekindled, and for the brink and bridge to fall from and to cross. 22 for the realization of more and the recognition of possibility, with slight juvenile mischief that is still present, but with the maturity of reason. And 13 for a more carefree time and a memory I have of a certain day at that age. Splashing water comes to mind. Clothes. Sandals. Change. Keys. Gate. Falling. Support. Hands. Breaking. Catching. Throwing. Laughter. Thanks.

The dream was brief. Yet real enough to have me checking my side when I awoke. I was disappointed with what I found, or did not find. But I still have a smile on my face.

And I still wonder what dreams really are. What they entail. Does it hold any knowledge we have yet to tap into? we'll never know for sure. But the future stretches far into the distance, maybe we'd find out along the way.

Yours, Lin~