When I was younger, I used to have dreams about sitting on the beach, and watching a giant wave from the ocean come in and overtake me. It wasn’t a regular dream — just every now and again. I’d wake up knowing I was scared in the dream, but also thinking that the water was beautiful. And I haven’t really had that type of dream since I was in my teens. The other night, I dreamed I was in a house with glass walls and windows and it was near the water. In this version, the waves start crashing against my glass house until there is a fracture on the ceiling. It only takes a couple waves for it to break a hole and that’s when I wake up. There is beauty and definition in dreams.
I like to write.
