What makes you dream something so vivid and real and awful that you wake up crying, and even when you realize it wasn’t real, the pictures and the feelings evoked are so vivid you can’t shake them? And then you get up, even though it’s insanely early, because you don’t dare to revisit that dream by falling back asleep.
I didn’t go to sleep thinking about this, and yet my mind made up a story that could quite possibly happen. Why would my mind do this to me, to itself?
No solace in the dark of morn.
No solace in the company of my sleeping child.
Just me and the dark and an image and words from a dream.