This is especially true for me when it comes to sleep and dreams. The unknown, mysterious rift between yesterday and today is a space I’ve found myself filling with joyful imagination.
Why do we dream?
A third of our lives is spent in sleep, yet as we dream we venture to wondrous and bizarre places. Are dreams merely subconscious illusions? Or are they something more profound?
I wish to meet my dad. I wish for Chobahm to be accepted into film school. I wish for Grandma to get well. None of my brother’s birthday wishes ever come true. Not a single one of them. So what else can I do but wish that his wish would come true this time; that everyone, including him, will be unscathed by whatever disaster is unleashed. Under the dome, the world is eerie in its still darkness. It’s seven more degrees until disaster.