A Plague of Dreams

I’ve scared myself senseless, with my thoughts, with my dreams. My mind has wandered into unfamiliar territory like a wayward child and I can’t help but wonder, what happens to us? Perhaps stress has just wound itself betwixt and between my thoughts, casting a shadow over my usually frivolous imagination. I can’t stop thinking, what happens to us?

Will we realise one day that we’ve grown old and our imagination has faded into something we can’t quite recognise anymore? What happens to people when they are fragments of themselves, trapped in a disease? What happens when we die? Is it like that awful dream where you feel trapped in your mind, unable to wake up, no matter how hard you try? Will that be it? Your soul running aimlessly through the charcoal chasms of your mind? Or is it nothing like that at all? Do you just cease to exist? Fall asleep one night, dreaming of nothingness. I find it hard to believe in anything but the tangible world in front of me, I’ve never believed in anything but the universe. But my mind is racing. What happens to us? Is it like amnesia, retaining all the whimzy of your imagination but losing all your memories? Will you know its happened? Surely.. I don’t know, maybe my universe is telling me to believe in something bigger, to have a little faith. To let a little light in, to keep these dark thoughts at bay.