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.