I hold my dreams

I woke again last night for the third night in a row…

The book

9th January

Moments before I became consumed by dread I had the book in my hand. I could feel it, its physicality, just like the note. The pages were darker around the edge, yellowed and slightly curled, brown around the corners; reminiscent of the darkIMG_5756ened veins of a dying autumn leaf. The weight of the book appealed to me, it felt comfortable, as though it might be mine. The text illegible yet the spine had no more cracking to do, I must of known these words. No sooner did I begin to recognise, did fear wrench open my sleeping eyes. Waking trepidation, just a book just a book… I could still feel the weight of it in my hand. Quickly as this dread began it vanished. Lull. I drift back.

The paper

16th November

A chill down my spine was what prompted me to wake up, although I hadn’t realised I was still asleep. Sat bolt upright like a newly reanimated corpse, I began to flail ungracefully in a half arsed attempt at retrieving an important document that I’d apparently misplaced. What did I do with the note? It was in between my fingers only a moment ago, I felt the corner pricking my hand as it bent into my palm. Frantically searching underneath the blanket, throwing it from side to side whilst almost dancing as I sit stretched legged. Frowning and with my fingers purged between the cold heavy cushions I realised I’d lost it. I thought to myself that maybe I’d left it there. But where did I mean? I’ve only been right here! The whole scenario became immensely confusing. I knew I needed it, I had written something incredibly important on this piece of paper, and I know I had it only a few minutes ago. Panic stricken and baffled I ceased the search for the remarkably important document and laid back defeated; feeling concerned that I may not be able to continue. What would I do, how would I get through the day?… Then it dawned on me that I’d never had it in the first place. It was only 7:15am so I shut my eyes again.

Why have I began to leave this paper trail an why do I fear it so?

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About bears8shelly

Writing is how I make sense of the world, my subconscious, and how I feel.
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