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The harder the journey gets, the softer that pillow hits. I once had nightmares for years, then lucid dreams interrupted the devil and now I see nothing but black. Emptiness; the strangest peace you didn't know you needed. Yet, I find myself missing the nightmares. They reminded me that I was alive. I could taste blood in the snow like an ice cream cone made from the darkest of drizzles. I’ve crawled out of the mouth of a dead whale and swam to a shore made of pearl colored marble, hippos chasing behind me with half of their heads in the water, only their eyes and ears visible. I wondered who I would be without the nightmares. Who would I be without the taste of terror on my tongue, salted with blood laced snow storms? Who would I be without becoming the dinner of a dead fish? I suppose I’m willing to find out.
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