Awake Wanderings

I wish my dreams would tell me everything.
That would be simple, peaceful. If every single image, idea, thought came from the unconscious me.
That me that has the answers; the one who always gets what I can't reach, no matter how much I try to hold on to it.
Morning comes and the light of it all, the joy of what it had been, the dream vanishes into pure nothingness, like a cloud of silent smoke.
I move my fingers around in the air, trying to grab what is left - the memory of what it was, of what it meant - trying to recapture what was taken from me.
They are ever so misleading, so true...
Almost like an impression written upon my own skin, engraved, left behind. But I am what was actually left behind, forgotten. It confounds me, leads me to treacherous unsteady ground.
If I let it consume me, I'm doomed. I'll be forever stuck, trapped in that non-existent land.
If I let it consume me, I won't be real anymore.
I wish my dreams would tell me everything, the reason why...I wouldn't have to be dragged by the weight of them all, then.

«All that counts is the truth. Without it you're basically just juggling people's daft ideias»