so I had this dream last night, and I can’t stop thinking about it. It kind of ripped me apart. you know those dreams that hurt so bad, it wakes you? I woke up in pain. I was sad, the kind of sad you feel in your bones. I had to take a breath and remind myself it wasn’t real. but even though it wasn’t real, the feeling was. I carried that feeling in my gut all day. It’s a day of letting go.
Maybe we’re all just waiting for something. Maybe the waiting is what secretly saves us. Because maybe the knowing is worse, and we would rather live in the unknown, even though we complain about it. Because with the unknown, there’s still hope. Even if It’s a centimeter of hope, it’s hope. For some reason we are built to believe that mysteries contain hope. Maybe the waiting isn’t so bad. Maybe its the inevitable we fear. We would prefer to live in that hope for just a split second longer. Because the truth is always harder to live with. Truth always trumps fiction.