The very minute I decide to start writing again, the dreams resume... They're not always nightmares but you wouldn't call them good in any case. It may have to do with writing a horror story for the first time. I doubt it however.
In my dreams, I keep chasing after people. Trying to save them from something as horrible as certain death (one of them was going to commit suicide but didn't know it yet) or just trying to keep them close, in fear that if they take one more step away, I might lose them forever. They're not always people I know in real life but let me tell you, the anguish I feel seems real enough. And when they are people that I do know, it's usually the ones I've already lost in one way or another and the guilt is overwhelming.
I know I can't stop death and that's the reason why I've stopped feeling guilty about the ones that are dead. But the ones I have pushed away... I can't deal with them. Because they mattered. Hell, they still matter and I see no possible way of getting them back.
I say this because I dreamt about John last night. You, of course, have no idea who John is and why should you? But John was important to me and I didn't do enough to keep him close. I don't know if I will ever see him again and maybe this doesn't mean much now. Still, I have to say it. I'm sorry, John.
Maybe I should refrain from writing horror stories for a while...
In my dreams, I keep chasing after people. Trying to save them from something as horrible as certain death (one of them was going to commit suicide but didn't know it yet) or just trying to keep them close, in fear that if they take one more step away, I might lose them forever. They're not always people I know in real life but let me tell you, the anguish I feel seems real enough. And when they are people that I do know, it's usually the ones I've already lost in one way or another and the guilt is overwhelming.
I know I can't stop death and that's the reason why I've stopped feeling guilty about the ones that are dead. But the ones I have pushed away... I can't deal with them. Because they mattered. Hell, they still matter and I see no possible way of getting them back.
I say this because I dreamt about John last night. You, of course, have no idea who John is and why should you? But John was important to me and I didn't do enough to keep him close. I don't know if I will ever see him again and maybe this doesn't mean much now. Still, I have to say it. I'm sorry, John.
Maybe I should refrain from writing horror stories for a while...
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