Inexistent Dreams.
Words would always flow to me when I asked them to; I’d find a torrent of sentences and ideas steaming around the inside of my mind, allowing the ideas to float subtly, and I’d make connections just as they appeared on the wave crests, to bring about an inspiring realisation. Somehow, these days, I’m quite akin to taking it slow in accepting the gushing torrents of thoughts. They are inexistent and based solely on the present; on what to do and what not to do. Nature is overwhelmingly wonderful with its messages, but I’m too attached with the current moment that I find it formidable to shift into dreamlike dispositions, to weave in visualisations and goals, to deem them as possible. It’s really uncomfortable because dreaming is an inherent part of my identity. The future is a trajectory made only for my own make-beliefs, where I am able to live the life I’ve always wanted to live. Perhaps what is causing this alteration is that— the present is much more like a dream r...