Some people brag about being up at six. I’d rather be dreaming.
Some dreams stick. Others are gone before I open my eyes. Certain themes keep coming back. And with age I started noticing something weirder. Some of them happened for real after some time, with a level of detail that made me stop and actually think about it.
But what gets me most isn’t that. It’s the “I” inside the dream. Sometimes it dissolves. I become someone else entirely, seeing through eyes that aren’t mine, or just floating there as a witness with no body. And when I wake up, I remember everything. Which raises a question I still can’t answer. Who was dreaming?