Factory of Dreams

I’m just sitting here, looking at the palm tree standing outside my window. He’s looking at me every time I sit in front of this screen, trying to do the only thing I supposedly know how to do in this life. I feel judged; he knows I’m just pretending.

Words don’t seem to flow. It is as if we were enemies, always in a constant battle. I cannot connect to them, just as I can’t connect with myself.  It’s time to close my eyes and imagine that a better life is possible. I’m scared of falling asleep and never dream again. I used to be a factory of dreams.

The problem is, though, that when you dream a lot you also have plenty of nightmares. The borderline is thin, weak, invisible. My mind can create and destroy in seconds, it is as if it were programmed to just create time bombs. A beautiful dream that is bound to blow up, slowly collapsing inside its creator. It’s bloody and painful, yet you’re not allowed to lose hope. You gotta try again, and again…and again…until you die carrying tons of unfulfilled dreams.

What would you be, after all, without dreams? What would I be in this world that was supposedly made out of dreams and hopes? Among so many bullshit, they have told us that we have to have something to hold onto: dreams and hopes. I would add ‘nightmares’ to that list.

What would I be, after all, without nightmares? What would I be without my amazing capacity to imagine my horrific death while I cross the street, or the death of thousands when I’m stuck in traffic due to a security checkpoint in my drug cartel infested city?

It’s impossible to dream without having nightmares. What am I supposed to do now that I’ve realized that your dreams are my nightmares?