I had another one of those dreams last night. No, luckily, not one of the dreams where I'm smoking non stop. One of those dreams that I usually have after a long trip, a busy seminar, or a long night out. The one where there's no plot, just noise, words, voices, and sentences from the busy period before sleep takes over. Only, I hadn't just come back from a trip, seminar, night out or anything. I had, instead, stayed up into the early morning hours reading; not realizing that the time had passed so swiftly. My dreams were those of lines, scenes, and characters' emotions all jumbled together before my eyes. A labyrinth of pain, loss, love, death, jealousy, fever and fate. Never before, that I can recall at least, had I experienced this 'style' of dream and its theme be from what I've read. I'm in no ways complaining. I love those dreams, the hurried mash up of little bits that my brain seemed to hold onto for one reason or another. All of them playing across my mind like watching someone paint a large canvas. Always unique, always beautiful, always a little haunting.
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