Dreams

Something I used to love doing. Something I used to do with my eyes open and closed. Now I dread my dreams, and I pray I don’t have them or remember them. When my loved ones tell me their dreams, and I try my best to be happy for them and listen like I actually even want to. In reality, I am filled with envy. Anger. Sadness. Confusion. Fear. Why? Somewhere along the line, my dreams stopped being happy. They started being an accumulation of my fears, traumas, and most profound thoughts I never choose to think of. Maybe it’s because when unconscious you have no choice, you deal with what you’re given. One day I hope to enjoy my dreams, or at maybe at the least enjoy others.