Dreams

Are they real? Are your futures fortold, your life documented in flashes of movie imagery, with the sole viewer being you and no one else?

Are they just impulses from the brain of what your subconcious really wants? Your innermost desires, your most darkest, most sadistic desires?

Are they metaphors, to allow you to see things that you are never meant to see? The secrets of life itself?

Or are they utter rubbish. Just another dosage of cosmic entertainment as you rest, the song you hear as the doors close and the lift moves to the next floor?

It was so real. I saw you, with someone else, and it hurt. I felt lost.

We were in a restaurant.

You told me that you can't be with me. That you left because you had your reasons, and that you were happy now.

And you said you couldn't bear my child.

Then the scene shifted. And it became her. And me. Her face was slightly older, slightly more world weary. But there was an enthusiasm that I had never seen before. She took my hand and placed it on her stomach. And then she said," don't worry. I will have your baby."

it felt so real.

But like I said. It's utter rubbish.