In my dreams, I know only grey skies and the taste of asphalt.

Through a maze of back alleys and scorched fields I try for freedom, the smell of burning cities drives me as much as what will happen when they find me.

Raven's Skeleton, my totem, is here. We are bleached white and broken, we are bound.
It's been more than an hour since I awoke, let's see how I do at remembering the events.

I don't dream or at least can never remember. But when you seem to be dreaming for hours on end you tend to remember.
And this is how it came to be last night and early this morning. I dreamed mostly of her, about growing up and just becoming a more mature adult. Throughout most of the episodes she crouched motionless in this or that corner of a fictional apartment we shared. She neither cried nor laughed but the whole time I felt warmth eminating from her. She was faithful and loyal in that this was the best place she could be and that she was doing the best she could to better herself but she didn't have to because I liked her just the way she was. A sense of responsibility overcame me. It was a call to arms that I needed to change.

I should really get to know her better. I kiss her in my dreams, I talk to her on the phone and have even seen her in my cereal. I've heard her cry. Never have I been close enough to wipe the tears from her eyes. Shame on me for not making the effort to meet her in person.

The one nice advantage of writing up a dream many many hours after the fact, at least for me, is that I get all philosophical and creative over reproducing it. In other words when I wake up, my dreams may feel more real but when I have a chance to write them down I make more sense out of them than when I originally experienced them. Because of this I feel them more.

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