But, in my case, that couldn't be further from the truth. My dreams force me to live them out. Whatever my imagination drums up that is where I go. Doesn't matter if I like it or not.
My mom says it's me being a kid. She system we turn everything into a movie. It's the way we are.
I love her, but she's wrong.
I've experienced it all. Nightmares of my teeth rotting, hair falling out and limbs missing. And once I wake up it's over. I'm back as if it never happened. Normal, she says.
If that's true, explain how I'm here, floating on water?
I assume the old record player is here because it's the same one my great grandma used to play every Saturday morning while she brushed my hair. The white dove is here because we released four of them at my great grandma's funeral last month. They were beautiful and now I see them in all my dreams. The other stuff, well, that's a part of my gift of imagination.
In about an hour my alarm will ring, pulling me away from this magical world I've created. Then, it's back to being the mean kid's bait on the schoolyard. Sometimes I wish I could sleep all the time.