Time Travel

I travel in time in my dreams. The dreams of the past bares my memory’s faults, and they are legion.  I had forgotten that once I could fly; I did not remember my way home so many times. 

I have too traveled in my dreams to times to come, and found them, like all my time travels, unsatisfactory. There, here and nowhere all at once, trying to understand the place where rules and laws do not hold dominion. There is no comfort there, in this journey that I undertake each night, and no reward.

Morning, and another day with the troubles of the business of living ends the journey. I do not know the past well, and even in my dreams it only makes sense in the wild, perverted rationality of a place where I live without understanding.

Living without understanding is easy; dreaming without it is much harder.

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