They’re supposed to be sweet, mellow, nice, and soft sounding. Most of all, dreams should be comforting.

Mine aren’t.

Not with real Dad in them.

Each dream I dream about him I begin to l o s e a bit of myself. But at the same time, I gain something new.

I don’t want to dream about him any longer.

Is that bad? Does that make me a bad person?

I’m afraid of falling asleep because, well,

I’m afraid of








I dream about my dad because I long for the day when I can actually see him. But my pride tears everything a  p  a r   t. I know I’m stronger than I tell myself I am.

I shall stop thinking I need him in my life, because I know well, I don’t.


2 thoughts on “Dreams

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