For a while now, I’ve been having these weird dreams. Just before I doze off into a fictional eternal slumber, I remember it. The dream I had the day before. It strikes like lightning and then dissipates into nothingness. Is that me falling asleep or am I already awake to begin with? When I realize I’m dreaming, theres always this girl, a cheerful and bright young girl, whose eyes carry the vast blue ocean and whose face is painted with light dots from the left cheek to the right. Theres this odd feeling that wells up inside of me, a feeling of coldness and emptiness. It’s almost like I want to cry but for some reason, I can’t. The tears won’t break past the barricade of eyelashes and my heart won’t calm down every time I see this girl. I know not who she is, where she comes from, how she is in my dream and whether or not she is even real. All I know is that, she is here, standing infront of me, a

small young version of me. With my little hands I grasp hers and we set off for a short lived adventure through the basketball courts, pass the ***** trees, under the slide and into a classroom. A classroom that wrings my heart so. I didn’t feel it, but at the same time I did. The feeling of a place that isn’t home but just feels like home. A place that you won’t ever be happy to leave, a place that can be like no other, a place that’s yours. Except it wasn’t. It wasn’t a place that’s mine. Because this girl was here, cleaning up the leftover lego blocks that filled me with an odd sense of remorse. I wanted to reach out and help, the me in the dream anyway. But I couldn’t, it was like a thousand hands holding each part of my body still. And when the hands finally let go, another reached out and grabbed mine and pulled me close. The warm sensation of these soft little hands. I knew who it was, I could feel the sensation, I could taste the air, I could feel her breath against mine and in the blissful moment I thought. ‘Am I dreaming?’. The shock woke me up, I could feel myself still attempting to slowly close my eyes and drift back into that world. But the memories of that dream slowly started to fade away, I couldn’t let this happen so now I write, everything I can remember. Everything from my journal all those years ago. I write it to you, for you, to listen to my story, my story of my strange series of dreams, and my strange infatuation with the girl in my dreams. A dream, no a memory is what I thought at that time, maybe it was a memory, maybe it wasn’t.