Dreams Will Carry You
11:11
Last night, I dreamt.
As with most dreams, it made little sense – just a swirling whirlpool of thoughts and emotions; blurred images; fragmented conversation. A dream mustn't have an intricately weaved meaning, they told me, as if my subconscious was pointless and irrelevant. I believe them to be liars; why else would it speak? Do we open our mouths to be silenced, or rather to be heard? I’d never wondered what a dream was, rather why it seemed so specially scheduled and designed.
At the age of fourteen, I wished for an understanding of myself. I dreamt that night, too.
As with most dreams, it made little sense – just a swirling whirlpool of thoughts and emotions; blurred images; fragmented conversation. A dream mustn't have an intricately weaved meaning, they told me, as if my subconscious was pointless and irrelevant. I believe them to be liars; why else would it speak? Do we open our mouths to be silenced, or rather to be heard? I’d never wondered what a dream was, rather why it seemed so specially scheduled and designed.
At the age of fourteen, I wished for an understanding of myself. I dreamt that night, too.