I wake up, and I forget I already dreamt it.

Maybe because it felt so real, I figured it had already happened. The mind is complex, and I wonder what it means. I wonder where it comes from.

And I wonder.

I wonder if it’s real, something that lives deep, deep inside me. Something reserved in a dark fathoming corner for self-preservation – because there is no other choice.

It haunts me, and it taunts me. Piquing my thoughts down a melancholic and deceptive time loop.