A Question

Isn't it funny how

a moment before

you could not feel your lips

and now, 

in a second, 

they're vibrantly alive.

Isn't it curious how

what seemed like forever

was a split time frame

that

didn't

even

last

a 

day?

The thoughts are tumbling 

through my mind

like a wave crashing

and circling down into the sand.

My breaths are caught like a hit

in the gut,

and the fear of never being able to 

breathe again

strikes

me

down

in

a

constant.

I blinked.

My lips parted.

As a question. 

Without 

an

answer.

The Chapel

She walked through the doorway, a smile lingering on her her lips.
"You're late."  His calm voice echoed through the empty house.
She stepped into the kitchen, gently folding her hands in front of her.  She felt the soft fabric of her dress and inhaled the smell of the forest.
"At least I showered."  She replied playfully.
The man walked into the light.  His jet black hair was greased back, and even though he was wearing a suit, she could see the dirt stains on his hands.  They watched each other for a moment before he rose his hand slowly, and closed the space between them.
In a fluid motion he brushed a stray curl away from her face, "You look lovely, Vi."
Her smile only widened, "Are you ready, Jackson?"
He didn't reply quickly, instead he stepped back and took her in.
Vi's smile began to falter, but before she could begin to doubt herself he grabbed her hands.
"I've been ready for a long time."
In the quiet house, they held still.
Jackson led her to the door, and they walked down to their small town car.  He waited for her to get comfortable in her seat before he shut the door and moved to the driver's seat.
The drive was quite.  Comfortable.  Vi watched the trees soar past them as they made their way to the building.  She tried to count how many trees they passed, but lost count almost right away.
They didn't turn on the radio, but instead listened to one another's heart beat.
It felt like a moment, but it took them half an hour to get there.
He pulled up and they sat there.  Comfortable.
He then turned to her and leaned to kiss her cheek.  He paused to inhale her perfume.  It was a mix of lilacs and fresh, light air.
As he pulled away he muttered, "I'll see you soon, darling."
Jackson exited the car, only to stop to pull her door open to let her out.  But she waited in the car for several moments until the man was inside the white marble building.
Vi squeezed her fingers, and let her right forefinger linger on the small, thin band that wrapped around her left ring-finger.
She smoothed out her dress and stood out, into the wind.
Vi pulled her little purse out in front of her, and pulled out a small, compact mirror.  She rose it to her face and began fixing minor make-up mistakes.  She smoothed out her kohl eye-liner, re-applied her deep red lipstick, and pinched her cheeks for a rush of red.  Then she fixed any dark stray hairs by tucking them back against her head into the already made bun.
Then she walked into the hauntingly beautiful building, and saw the man with dark slicked back hair standing at the very end of the aisle, staring at her with a slim, silent smile.
By the time she took a step forward she understood.
She was never late.

Dreams Are a Strange Thing.

She stood in front of the mirror, but the girl who she saw was not her--- even though it was.
For her hair, it was much shorter.
Her nose, it was much smaller.
Her eyes, they were much larger.
Her lips, they were much fuller.
Her skin, it was much paler.
But it was her.
For, you see, as she lifted her arms-- so did the other girl's.
When she moved her mouth-- so did the other girl's.
But when the girl in the mirror spoke, the girl who was standing before it did not.
They girl with short hair said robotic-ally, as she poked her cheek "I am so much paler than you."
"But aren't we the same person?" Asked the original girl.
A large smile was planted on the short haired girl's lips.  "Oh no.  You'll never be me."

A Nightmare

This may trigger some people, so if you are easily triggered, please don't hurt yourself and read this.  I don't want you to hurt yourself.

My legs were numb when I woke up.  It happens a lot. When ever my hands or legs fall asleep... my dreams become nightmares. I think it's because my mind is trying to make sense of why my body is suddenly not being able to feel.

This is the nightmare I had when my legs became numb. 

The house was tall and dark. Six stories. Each floor was just a small shadowed room. And my mind kept flashing to cut up legs. The legs had thousands of shallow razor cuts, and each person on each floor had cut up legs. 

The cuts were from a shaving razor. 

The girl that I was speaking to looked like the actress who played Matilda.  Dark brown hair,  bow head band.  She was not on the first,  second or third floor. 

But before I began stepping up the spiral wooden stairs,  she spoke about being cut on her legs. How the people in the house all had cuts on their legs,  but a few were the ones doing it--- even to themselves.  She seemed terrified, but in a serious way.
After she talked to me she disappeared.  And that's when I began on the first floor.

The young adult I met was blond and had a slim build.  He had dark brown eyes and I when I found him shaking in the corner of his black, shadowed room with only a queen bed in the middle, I found he only had underwear on.  It isn't that kind of dream though, so if that's what you are hoping to read, just leave.
He was curled up, leaning his head against the dark wall when I spoke to him.  I couldn't hear myself speaking, but I knew I was asking him questions like 'What's happening?'  and 'Who did this to you?' as I was referring to his red, bleeding legs.  But he looked past me, and was whimpering and crying.  He didn't speak, but he looked up.  He looked up.

The young woman I met on the second floor was brief.
In fact, I don't remember it at all.
All I know is that it was the same looking room, only one higher, and that she was sitting in her underwear (white, underwear) and she was silent.  I didn't speak to her.  But I remember her raven black navy hair.  She had black irises.

The third floor is the final floor I got to, but I knew there were a few more above me.  The woman in this floor-- same bedroom like the others-- she was laughing the crazed maniacal way that insane people laugh.  She was cutting  her legs with a shaving razor.  Cutting horizontally.  She would whisper something, cut, laugh, cut, whisper, laugh, cut, cut, cut.
I said hello.  But she was unaware of me.  And as I was speaking, I realized she was answering me without me realizing it.  I would ask her what's going on, and she would cut and say something in a verse of poetry.  When I asked her why she was cutting herself she responded like this:

Living in fear, unaware of here
cut, cut, cut.
I can see, but cannot be
cut, cut, cut.
Wouldn't you rather have control
of the fist that hit you
an hour ago
than not be able to sleep
with a content mind?
If you were the one the dragged the blade
and slept in a bed that's softly made
than not be able to sleep
due to a restless mind?
My hand
My movements
My power
Not theirs.
They can't touch me
with my own cuts
because the room is gone
they've lost their luck.

And that's when I woke up in a panic.  I was so terrified I had to turn on the light and was unable to sleep.  Because as she spoke, my vision was flooded with images and I knew that the little girl who I first met was in the very top room, and that she was the one that scared every one and cut everyone elses' legs.  And Getting that rush of information made me terrified.

But as I say,
I would rather have nightmares than not be able to remember my dreams.

A Strange, Beautiful Dream

I have a lot of dreams.
Weird dreams.
Not ones that take place in the supermarket and the can I'm looking at is for fish children.
Oh no.
It's like I'm in a different life from a different universe.
I think that's why I believe my body is sleeping but my spirit goes to a different dimension.


I was packing because I was visiting a home, and it was time to leave.  There was a boy there around my age who was getting on my nerves, and I knew I had to talk to him before I left.  When I got to his room to get my bag (I was staying in his room seeing as there were two beds, three actually, but I'll get to that) and he was sitting on his bed reading.
When I opened the doors his eyes flicked up and went back to his book.  I said meekly that I came to finish packing.  He didn't respond until I started packing.
"Do things ever confuse you?"  He put the book down.
"Yes, all the time, really."  I was unzipping my bag to put in clothes.
"Aiya, what if something were to happen?  Whether you're on the streets or not... or, here's a better example,"  He scooted closer to me, "If I were to kiss something, someone, or you, what would happen?"  His face was getting closer and he repeated himself, "If I were to kiss something, someone or you..."  My eyes were fluttering shut and dammit!  I couldn't open them!  I wanted to see this!  Why can't I open them! I felt his breath get closer and my opened slightly enough to see his lips.  I felt a soft, beautiful pressure on my cheeks, and after a moment he pulled away.
I was almost disappointed he didn't kiss my mouth, but I was so wonder-stuck I still. Couldn't. Open. My. Eyes.  I was getting embarrassed.  Finally I got them open and he was smiling at me.

The scene switched to us laying in bed (No, we didn't do anything, I knew that much)  We were simply holding each other, sometimes kissing.  But I knew I had to pack.  So I told him that, and began to get up.
He asked if I had to.
"Aiya, please."
But I tilted my head and said, "When I'm done we don't have to stress about anything."

Now, I know I said my dreams get weird, and this doesn't sound weird.  It sounds normal.  This isn't.  First off, I can't speak to guys I like.  I feel like I'm annoying them, so I wait for them to talk to me- which is sometimes.  Second, we haven't got to the weird part.

Suddenly there were bangs on the door, and he jumped out of bed in a fury, panic swept through me as I got so very confused as to what was happening.  Two ghost girls appeared (I knew they were dead because I just knew)  and hugged me.  The scene changed to a train.  We were all in a train, and the man banging at the door (I knew he was a man because he was banging on glass doors) was still trying to get in.
There were a lot of us now; me, the boy, the two ghost girls (Who lived in the bedroom with their brother before they died of a sickness, again, I just knew this)  as well as a few of my family members and closest, oldest friends.
The boy gave us this tube and told us to put it on our teeth.
Ha. Ha.  We did it without second thought.
The man was still banging, oh gosh it was scary and intense and crazy.
When we put the paste on our teeth, the green paste made our teeth- guess which colour-- Green!
We were all so confused, and the train wasn't moving but we knew we would get to our destination.
The boy who kissed me pulled me off to the side and I asked, "What's going on (I said his name, but it blurred out in the dream.)?"
He hugged me and said, "Magic and Natural power go against one another."
And then I looked at the man on the opposite side of the glass door holding a laser pen, trying to get in.  And it was melting through the glass.
Ohhhh.  It made sense now.  The boy had some kind of power (Probably intense charisma, but I never find out) and the man uses magic!  And they're enemies!

The dream ends with the boy giving us new tubes of paste to make our teeth white again, but the colour is bright, glowing white-- like when Ross bleaches his teeth.


If you've been on my blog before, you know my name is Emily.  In dreams I've never told my name to anyone, and it felt like it was me.  But in this dream, I not only told him my name, but I said my name was Maiya.  Not only was that weird, but I was given a nickname in it-- Aiya.
This is the real reason I wanted to write down this dream, because this has never happened to me before with my memory.  I thought it was incredible.
Thanks for reading, you lovely soul,
-Emily

The Sea

I think I was swimming in an ocean of dreams

When my vision began to ebb

and the stars I was so used to seeing

Decided they wanted to go to bed

I didn’t think too much of it at first

because Jupiter began to shine so bright

and as I let my heavy head fall into the sea

My heart lifted to see it was sunlight.

My Sunset

I will watch the sun rise
with the faintest memory
of how my lungs became filled
of the scarlets before me
and how when the light
grew above the hill
and draped my eyes
as I felt my heart fill.
I shan't forget how your eyes crinkled
smiling at me as I passed.
Even though my heart is thudding
from the shadow you had cast.
And I'll keep walking
with confusion swelling
and I will keep my mouth shut
because with you, there is no telling
how long you will see me.
But just like you,
the sunrise will fade
into the sky thaw we will watch.
And my heart will trade
itself for a cloud
to make myself feel light.
Even though without the sun
nothing, oh nothing will be as bright. 

Matthew

I first met this boy when I was living in the tiny shack that my mum excused for a house.  This house had one hallway when you open the sliding glass door to the very minimal space meant for a living room couch.  I guess it was more like an in ground trailer.

     The living room had somehow managed to fit an under stuffed deep red plaid couch that had frayed holes along the arms.  And if you stood behind the couch, you were already one step from the kitchen.  It held a mini fridge and a toaster oven.  And that was how we cooked.  

     But of course I didn't care then.  I was a six year old little girl who simply adored sprinting up and down the single hall way.  The single hallway that lead to two rooms.  As you walked down the narrow ply wood hall, to the left was the snug office.  Surrounded by a book shelf that lined the entire room, and was stuffed with a book in every space.  On the furthest side a desk was placed, taking up half the room.  As well as an overly large plush leather swirly chair.  

     I used to play simple games on the computer that lay evenly on the desk.  

     And if you walked to the end of the hall, you would enter the bedroom.  The single bedroom that held my mum and I.  I slept with her for the longest time, because we only had the single queen bed.  But as I grew old enough to be considered a woman, we sold the queen for two single beds. 

     I first met this boy when I was whirling in circles in the office.  The computer had gone to sleep and as I spun around, making myself sickly ill, I caught a glimpse of a boy's hair behind me in the reflection.  I tumbled out of the chair, toppling it over with fear.  I became scared, paranoid of what I had seen.  I hadn't truly seen someone, it was a trick of the light.  

     But as I fixed the chair and turned around, I practically ran into a boy who was a head taller than me, with sandy brown hair tousled in front of his hazel eyes.  He grinned then, pulling me into a tight hug, sighing with relief as he smelled my hair.  At that moment I couldn't figure out why someone would love the smell of apple so much, but today I could understand why.  

    He pulled away with me still in shock.  From closer up I could see he was a few years older than me.  He looked as though he was nine or ten years old.  He was very lanky, no muscle anywhere.  No fat either.  And he had high cheekbones that lifted as he smiled.

     "Danny!"  His voice was still quite high, but excitement laced through my name as he stared in disbelief.   I felt so confused as to who this boy was.  A neighbour?  A school chum I hadn't taken into consideration?  "Oh Danny, I'm so glad to finally meet you."  At this point fear struck through me that I didn't know him.  And that I never did.  I started to call for my mum, but as I did his eyes widened and he ran out of the room.  I sprinted after him, down the single hall and into the living room.  No door was open, nor window, so I knew he couldn't have left. 

    But as my mum came rushing in with soil on her knees and daisies in her grip,  there was no sign of him.  I told her what had happened, but she laughed and told me my imagination sure was wild. 

     But he was real.  I knew because he came again.  

     I wasn't as frightened, but I was still fearful of who this boy was. 

     As he kept coming, we would go outside into the forest surrounding the trailer and pretend to be professional archers.  Or we'd play hide and go seek until the stars shone our way.  Every time we'd play together, he would never come into my house when my mum was making tea or serving a meal. He told me he didn't want to intrude because she seemed like such a lovely lady.  Of what I told him about her.  I told my mum everything, and finally she asked his name. 

     "Matthew."  I would say proudly. 

     But my mom wouldn't smile at that.  Instead she would frown dubiously, turn back to the kettle or onions she would satee,   Never asking about him. 

     We became best friends as a few years went on.  We both were growing, and soon I was in middle school.  My mum didn't believe that this boy existed.  Every time I would promise he would come over this time, he cancelled and ran home.   We made a rule not to enter each others homes, that our home would be outside.  Together. 

     As soon as I'd get home from school I'd drop my bag and sprint out to the backyard.  There on the same chopped stump would sit Matty, and we would go off on our adventures. 

     It became ours.

     As we grew older, Matthew became quite tall.  He held the same shaggy hair that he had when I first met him, and the same stunning hazel eyes.   He did get more muscular, but thinly so.  I became jealous of his body as mine became curvier, but he would always reassure me it looked better than fine.  That it was perfect.  And not to take any crap from any girl or guy.  

     We didn't go to the same school.  His parents home schooled him, he would say.  And I was fine with that.  We saw each other plenty.  

     But whenever I would bring home some friends, I would check the stump and he wouldn't be there.  He wouldn't come out when I had company, he always said how he would be intruding.  Wrecking something so beautiful.  

     I told him he wouldn't be wrecking something beautiful because he was beautiful. 

     And I remember as we sat under the canopy of trees, he stared at me with a melancholy laced in his iris's.  It made me sad.  It made me want to know what was wrong. 

     But he barely spoke of himself.  He would let me talk about my petty issues with guys, and grades.  Eventually it became normal that we didn't talk about him.  

     It was like I was the main character of his book. 

     But as high school ended, he asked me what I would do now.  

     And I told him about the boy who asked me to move away with him. 

     And I saw the pride grow like a fire in his smile. 

     And I felt his love as he pulled me into his arms. 

     And I felt heartbroken when he pulled away

     and I saw something flicker. 

     Him. 

     He stared at me expectantly. 

     "Danielle,"  He started, "I didn't want to come over, but I think I should now.  I think I should."

     He gripped my hands almost as though he was pleading, but without hesitation I said of course.  And we went into the tiny cramped living space.  And as my mum came home with dirt on her face she smiled at me and sat so close to Matty that I thought she'd sit on him.  I gasped, fearful for a moment, but Matthew turned and grinned. 

     "Don't worry Danny."

     My mum leaned over and kissed my cheek, and I realised what was happening. 

     She was ignoring Matty. 

     But, she wasn't.

     She didn't see Matty. 

     Terror sliced through me, and I stood up suddenly, rushing myself for air. 

     Matthew raced out after me, grabbing my arm to stop me. 

     "Danny, I'm sorry!"  His eyes plead, waiting for me to say something. 

     "What's going on Matt, what the Hell was that?"  He winced at my words, but I had given him what he wanted;

      my voice.

      I trembled as he spoke fluidly. 

      "I love you and your mother so very much, Danny.  You need to know that.  And I am so absolutely proud of you for how far you've come."  His eyes were swelling with tears.  "And I'm so glad to see your bright future.  Please.  Please remember you have a brilliant future."  Confusion shuffled through me.  "Danny,"  He took a deep breath, "I'm your brother."  I was about to speak but he cut me off, "--Danny, mum had a miscarriage before she had you.  Several years before she even wanted to try again.  And daddy?  He left when he thought mum wouldn't get pregnant.  She found out she was with you three days after daddy left."  His face was faltering, "I wanted to grow up with you, so I waited here for you.  you have a life Danny."  I was shaking, crying with upset.  Disbelief. 

    "Matty, no.  No no no."  I was shaking my head aggressively, "No!  You're real, I'm touching you now!"  He looked down at his hands and he smiled sadly. 

     "That's because you saw me when we were so young.  You got used to me.  I'm so sorry Danny.  But I love you so incredibly much.  And I am so proud of you.  I want to watch you get married and have children, but I can't."  Pain flashed through his eyes, "Every moment I stay longer, it hurts Danny.  It hurts so much."  

     He was fading, in and out.  I hugged him tightly, feeling the fabric of his shirt disappear through my fingers. 

     "Matty, oh Matty I'm so proud of you too.  I never thought I could love someone as I do you.  You are the most incredible person I have met, and I owe so much to you.  I won't let you down, Matty.  I owe you so much.  So... so much."  My sobs were clouding my speech, and I shut my eyes tightly.  

     I don't know how long I sat there, but after a while I heard the door slide open, my mum coming over and rubbing my back. 

     "You okay, sweetie?"  I nodded numbly. 

     

I dream of him often.  And I still love him as I hold my son in my arms.  I still love him as I hold the hand of my husband.  I still love him. 

     

     Matthew, I regret that we didn't get to have a life together, but every time I feel a pressure on my hand I want you to know that I think of you.  I think of you watching me grow up and even though I'm still so much a child, I love you no matter what.  I love you Matthew.  

As Gravity Pulled Me Under

The steps grew heavier with each push against the cool concrete. Gravity dragging me like a magnet to the Earth. But my eyes stayed focused on the point on the horizon where my goal was.
And then I rose my foot again. I looked up at the startling blue above me, and as I grew nearer to the lamppost, my steps lightened.  My hands locked onto the freezing metal post, and I felt my legs slowly raising upward, into the sea above.
My light hair danced around my face, licking the air down into blue.
Or was it up?
Pain staggered through my arms as I held onto the post. The sky below seemed endlessly clear.
And I saw a dot.
Just a small dot.
Laughter evaded my mouth.
A dot?
My fingers loosened, my heart lept into my throat.
Air sung across my face, kissing me with teeth.
But I began falling upward.
Gravity tugged me up, and I was flipped.
Suddenly the dot was growing the larger, and I saw a glimpse of the pale hair.
Wind surged around, and I was shocked by the sudden shattering of the mirror I was in.
The waves were smooth around me, and I looked up at the thick metal grates above.
And I looked down as gravity pulled me under.
As gravity pulled me under.

James

The morning where the rain wasn't falling.
The air that didn't hold a tinge of guilt.
All came whirling when I looked at my reflection.
The splotchy skin.
The red eyes.
The way that hiccups still escaped my sobbing mouth.
But I looked into the mirror and saw my large forehead. How the thin, oily strands of hair clung around my ears. But in the cold green eyes, I saw something someone told me about.
I think the word was, adventitious.
I hadn't heard that word before he had said it. That's why it stuck.
He was holding me. We were arguing before he grabbed my wrist. The wrist that was attached to the hand I was going to slap him with. Because he told me I was 'Too damn adventitious.'
And I thought that was a bad thing. In his context, it was.
But to be a person to go with the flow of things...
That's a good character.
And as I was huffing, and he was fuming, his grip released and I started laughing.
It wasn't the tiny giggles that bubble out from a child's' throat when they find something cute. Oh no. It was the laughter that was so obnoxiously loud that startled both of us.
It sounds like an odd memory. And you may ask why I like it so much.
Because after I stopped laughing, his face froze.
And my breathing stopped.
I wasn't scared.
I was...
Adventitious.
Because I let him kiss me.
And then I let him kiss me again.
And again.
He held me then. His hands gripping my waist, pulling me closer as I laced my shaken hands through his silky brown hair.
I never felt so light until it happened.
We practically fell down the beach steps, crashing into the sand in a fit of the childish giggles.
James.

Seven months ago.
And here I stand in front of my mirror. Greasy brown hair and puffy eyes.

I dreamt of him.
Again.
It was the memory of us fighting again.
But this time I truly did slap him.
And he never spoke to me again.
But as he was rushing off in a fit of rage, he turned onto the road. Screaming at me.
"It's okay for control, Abbi. But don't always follow the way of life. Do something to manipulate it."
Because then he stands there with tears in his eyes.
He's trying to help.
And I see the way the light of the setting sun falls onto his side. How it reflects into his eyes and bloody Hell, he catches me out of breath.
And he steps forward.
Five steps from the sidewalk.
Four.
Three.

But the light on his side isn't from the deep reds of the sun.
It's his blood. Seeping through his shirt.
And he knew.

I woke up then. Before he could fall to the road.
That's how I woke up sobbing.
I think I was crying during the dream too.
I think I knew.

Seven months ago, my James died.
The James who taught me control, freedom and love.
My James. Who woke up at four in the morning, would jog all the way to my front yard (which was well over 10 miles) and bring me coffee so we could drink it and go for another run.
My James. Who showed me how to surf.
Who I punched in the eye because he was such a jack ass.
Who I kissed one thousand times because he was so sincere.

My James. Who was hit by a car while we were walking home after the best surf of the year.
Who never ran with me again.
Who never cried with me when my father passed away.
Or screamed with utter joy when my sister walked across her Ballet performance for the Black Swan.

My James. Who I loved so heartachingly. So wholefully.

So I stand in front of my mirror without his lips caressing my shoulder.
With my dirty hair and sullen eyes.

And I bring the cold water onto my face.

My body burning from the sadness revolting within me.

And I breathe.

Because James isn't breathing right now.

And I want to breathe for him.

Dreamer

Dreams that I have, always seem to confuse me.
Either they terrify so much that I feel paralyzed, or that I want to lock my door,
or they feel right in the dream, but I have little to no clue what it could have meant when I wake up.
Now, I know the second one most people feel.
That in the dream it makes complete sense, but in the awoken world, it doesn't.
Or the dream is simply forgotten.
But I'm a dreamer.
A dreamer who remembers most of my dreams. And some of them... well to be blunt, they bloody terrified me.
But then I'll have a dream, so heartbreakingly lovely, that I wake up so incredibly sad.
I've only had two dreams I remember like that.
One was about love, the other of death.
But the dreams that catch me off guard, ha, well, suddenly I'll dream of a person I haven't thought of in a long time. Just to give a whirlwind of emotions come tumbling through me as I awake.

But how can a person know what they're feeling when they wake up is honest and true, in comparison to the effects of what emotion was manifested in the dream. The dream that felt so real that you could touch items. Feel the grit, or the breath coming from your throat.
Because I can't.
And that, is why I am so, completely, utterly confused with my emotions.

Last night I dreamt of a person I haven't spoken to in about a year. And they were playing hockey. (Not their favourite sport may I add) But they were playing hockey on a large team in a soccer arena. The area looked like grass, but they were obviously skating on it.  And I stood at the entrance in the dim lighting, between six large square cement posts.  And after, he came out and I hid. But he found me.
And he almost kissed me. But that was when I woke up.

This boy, whom I haven't spoken with in a year, I have never had romantic feelings towards. And it's dreams like this where I can't tell if I made a mistake. Because I can't force a part a reality to a thought.

But one thing that brings me back to the realization that it was a dream and not real is the fact that I was in love with the idea of it.
Whether it be about a boy, or a family member, or even an island of some sort, it is the idea that enticed me as I woke up. Not the actual thought of ,"If I had stayed with him, that is how I would have felt."
No. The way I have found to separate the confusing feelings of reality to dreams is the idea of it. To pull a part what I loved or hated about it, so I could explain I. Do. Not. Feel. That.


But believe me, I know the feelings.
And it's hard to tell your mind that when it feels enticed or fearful.
But it helps. Even the slightest bit, it helps.

-Em.