I had a weird dream last night. I don’t remember it, just that it was weird, a feeling without any basis for existing except that it was because of a dream. I had. Last night.
Only in my dreams do I write beautiful poetry that rhymes perfectly and makes sense. Only in my dreams do I craft intricately woven and best-selling plots for my novels that don’t exist. Yet.
Only in my dreams do I take beautiful long exposure photos that rival any National Geographic photographer’s work.
Only in my dreams is it normal to walk on air and chew bubblegum at the same time whilst talking to a friend.
Dream logic makes no sense.