It's kind of funny how dreams make a mockery of my insecurities, how it always cooks up scenes of all the unlikely people I have ever lost, all the things that I am about to lose. Sometimes I feel, reality is much better than these images of falsified nostalgia that are set in a surreal landscape filled with the omen of loss and retribution. She was in there, reading her book or chatting up with a friend, she was in my dream sitting on the railway tracks. I wonder if she has ever done that in real life- sat on a railway track to giggle a bit, and so I wondered when was the last time we sat and talked- that's what these dreams do, they make you remember things best forgotten and so it happens for a while, the pain and nostalgia bit and then it's all over in flurry of reality that is so very unforgiving to anyone who dares to dream on.
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