A Dream
I had a dream that felt more real than waking life. The protagonist was a man of action whom many relied on. He ran around the town facing friends and foes alike. Their lives were worlds apart, each dripping of texture, colors, and meaning. There were actors, artists, merchants, teachers, cooks, and entrepreneurs. There were also criminals, terrorists, and people just trying to survive while deperately protecting their own way of life. Even as I experienced these things, I felt compelled to note them down so I wouldn't forget. It was a special feeling, the kind whose memory beckons a lifelong pursuit, which forever leaves you feeling incomplete without carrying it in your heart. Yet, once I fully awoken, it just slipped through my fingers, like a melting, sparkling, colorful, and mysterious goo. Never to take shape again, leaving behind a stubborn surface layer that refuses to wash away as a reminder of its glory. How much longer can I bear to distract myself from this feeling? Th...