Prompt: who do you think is living the dream and why?
I am living the dream – I am living the dream not dreamt up by myself, but the dream that forms just before dawn when the air is most cold and the psyche most deep in its slumber.
The dream I created is now in shambles, the broken shards
pierce my bare feet as I trod the barren earth. The dream I created has
unraveled and trailed off into non-existence, into surreal questioning.
The dream I created evaporated in the trailing smoke of un-stoked cinders.
But I rise. I breathe. I live, nonetheless.
I am living the dream of the dreamer, the dream of the
dream-giver. I go on and this fact alone qualifies me for the title of living
The dream has blood and breath and bones and they are mine. And I am alive.
The dream is colorful and vivid one moment, foggy and unclear the next. Still, I am alive and I go on. I go on in the colors and I go on in the fog.
The dream is loud with clanging clutter and noise; it swallows me then spits me out in deafening silence. I squeal, but can not be heard. I see myself, through the eyes of a distant dreamer and I realize that it is I who am both here and there; I am the living and I am the observer. I realize that it is I who am living this dream that belongs to me and only me. I am the creator who shapes the dream and I am the destructor who shatters it.
But I am not the original dreamer, and I am not the dream-giver. I am simply the one living the dream.