For Real

Similar t how smelling a scent from a time you never want t relive or even reminisce upon, sleep feels that way t me when I start having weird dreams. I think of going t bed at night and its an instant blow of that specific scent from th past, diffusing all around my present. But at least this time round, my dreams aren't as bad for me t deem a mix of reality within it. I actually know what's real. That pungent scent will forever linger but what I've learnt ever since th last time I wrote a repertoire of my nightmares, is th fact that many of those messed w my head for an extended period of time, on and off or every other night. So much so that I desperately found ways t keep myself awake through th night, doing absolutely anything but fall asleep. I wanted reality because it was my only way out from experiencing a feeling all too familiar once I drifted off t sleep. More importantly? Reality messed w my head just as bad, if not more considering I've been awake more than I've ever been asleep. And that's where I do anything I can possibly think of just t buy an eyeful of sleep or in other words, escape reality, escape my mind.

Is life based on how well we juggle dreams and reality, throwing either one under th bus as soon as we decide we can't handle that one for th night?
Th truth is, there is no escape.
What can go so wrong in a nightmare, when wrong has way crossed th line in reality one too many? Th difference though, nightmares and reality don't balance out on a weighing scale in terms of th effects it has on me. Whether sweet dreams of a place w a beautiful waterfall, producing a melody of trickling water serenading my soul as I lie on green grass watching th clouds sway pass my vision, or nightmares of th devil's voice deafening my right ear while my hands chant t it, draining my blood or standing in th middle of a blood-splattered room w th body of someone I just murdered, I'm always allowed t dream, I'm always allowed t bring a fantasy alive. How can I throw away one of th very few times in life whereby I write th story and watch it happen, all while I'm resting my body. And w that, how can I try t ever escape reality, when its everything that is true, everything I feel and hear and see, are real. I once watched a video of a scientist who claimed th one and only reason humans go t sleep, is because we actually acquire a feeling of sleepiness, no other reason. And I choose t believe that. I choose t believe that th only reason I should go t bed, is when I actually feel th need t sleep. Never as an escape route for after all, there exists no evasive portals in life.

Maybe I may dream tonight, perhaps I may have nightmares. But I don't feel th need t run away from them. There are things way scarier than all that. Goodnight x