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Dancing upon the fringes of memory,
Toes dipping into the pool of my consciousness
Before dissipating before the ripples are noticed.

The ephemeral veiled reminders of dreams.
Years later remembering directions
Through that maze of a shop where
The juggler performed outside.
Yet often, forget the exhausting
Nerve-wracking moments waking.

A ballerina making tiny footprints in the sand to be washed away.
Feeling unsure about what’s real or not.
Solid memories that must have been dreams.
Nightmares that were reality.

Why do we dream.
Is there really meaning? Or is it one of our many flawed human traits, trying to find it in everything even whilst we sleep.
Patterns. Even our toast must have faces.
Processing all of our sensory inputs,
Our experiences of the day, our thoughts and worries, the noise outside while we sleep.
Of course there will be meaning sometimes.
Just as if there were infinite monkies…

I remember nightmares I had as a kid.
But at some point I stopped remembering my dreams.
It felt like I was broken.
I pleaded to remember them,
Sure I would learn from them.

Lo and behold it worked.
Since then I always remember,
Wishing I could forget.
Wake up feeling more tired than when I went to sleep.

So many nightmares…
but the good dreams are so much harder.