In this dream, I was walking.
No, running. I'm running, fast and hurried and looking back every five seconds or so to check if they've caught up yet.
I didn't know who or what I was running from, but I knew I was in danger. Was it the past, the future, or the present? Was it the spaces in between them, all balled into one, the times I've never really been sure about?
In this dream, I was at a plaza one moment, panting for breath, looking for a friendly face, and the next thing I knew, I was in the middle of an endless, empty field. Empty, except for the one farmer who pointed me where to go. Who was he? Was he all the dreams I wanted to achieve, showing their selves to me in person?
Don't worry, dreams. I'll follow you.
Off I went, to this gray city with even grayer skies, like a monster whose teeth are made up of old buildings, covered in peeling paints that once used to be white. Its grunts were the car horns, dead, shallow. I was with my friends, and we were talking about getting to the top of the highest building. Why?
This is not as wonderful as you thought it would be. If you're settling for second rate, you might at least want to be at the top.
In this dream, I could easily bleed the colors no one would have expected. Green, because I'm jealous of everyone else whose lives turned out to be more convenient. Luxurious, even.
Red, because my sorrow is just that much.
Black, because it's all the colors, combined. I've been through everything. Warm, cool, appealing, repulsive.
Do I regret any of this?
No. I'd do it all over again.
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