Dreams
What is it with dreams, anyway? I've been waking up all week with my dreams just on the edge of consciousness. I know I've been dreaming, but in the foggy, hazy wake-up moments, the colors and sounds in which I've been immersed swirl away down the drain, while I lie there, puzzled; wondering. It must have been pleasant, because in my drowsiness I try to recapture the story line, but to no avail. I feel relaxed, renewed with the morning; but wondering, all the same.
Bad dreams, on the other hand, tear you from your deepest sleep while the cracks in the window blinds are still dark. The electric jolt in your legs reverberates through your body and squeezes your lungs. The story is vivid and clear, and replays itself in your wide-awake mind. You pull the covers closer to warm your chills. Turn on your side, curl up; turn your back on the nightmare. Sooner or later sensibility returns: nothing harmful here... just a dream...
But always in the morning, you're left wondering.
Bad dreams, on the other hand, tear you from your deepest sleep while the cracks in the window blinds are still dark. The electric jolt in your legs reverberates through your body and squeezes your lungs. The story is vivid and clear, and replays itself in your wide-awake mind. You pull the covers closer to warm your chills. Turn on your side, curl up; turn your back on the nightmare. Sooner or later sensibility returns: nothing harmful here... just a dream...
But always in the morning, you're left wondering.