Sometimes I woke up with fragments of time buried deep, moments better left untouched, and words left unsaid. Sometimes I woke up with memories I'm not sure ever happened. Sometimes I woke up with a small smile that I never know what the cause is. Sometimes I woke up with someone's voice echoing within my ear shell unto the bleak, static morning.
Most of time, I never remember what exactly my dream was about.
One alarming morning when I do not forget, I woke up abruptly and left awake staring at my ceiling as a dying man's voice reverberated around me, confessing love with his last breath to God knows who. I am aware that dreams about sick friend come sporadically, and these are dreams I often remember; I loathe them, because it almost feels like premonition, and they left me with cold anxiety of someone passing away, like what happened once upon a time.
Some of the forgotten dreams come back so suddenly like a car crash; déjà vu, as we call it. A glimpse of the future a lot of people often see. It is a love-hate relationship, a déjà vu. When it's pleasant, you're going to be okay, after the initial disorientation I never mastered not to feel. When it's unpleasant, it sends me into a whirlwind of inner turmoils, burning regrets, and blaming games I never won.
I often wonder what they mean, but I refuse to mull over it in fear that it will hunt me, like the way sky dies prematurely always hit me with a wave of agony.
