And a one, and a two, and a three…

I tried to wipe my tear strained face as I woke up from that awful dream. The only physical evidence left of its existence was the powerful headache that was so gracefully gifted to me. I don’t know when I stopped viewing things as nightmares, only bad dreams. Maybe that’s a small denial that helps me cope. Maybe it’s nothing. Nomenclature aside, I couldn’t shake what this dream meant. Crying in front of you, while you pretended not to see. While you tried to move on. As I’m writing now, I’m reminded of a similar event, but that was with someone I really don’t care to remember. Am I scared that you will leave me at my most vulnerable like she did? The night before, I did feel unchosen by you. Why did I have to carry this from my conscious to my unconscious? I don’t know. Even less than speculate, all I can do is ask these questions. I don’t know what my bad dreams mean. But hey, I’ve never had a nightmare.

Ad astra, ad astra, ad astra.