My house smells like a hotel, and to be precise, it smells like cheap soap and sweat. And speaking of which, my bathroom lights are "broken" as well. I retreated for the night early, but had trouble sleeping.

I had sequential dreams again.

Some of them I'm familiar with, and I can remember those weird characters in them, each to his/her own setting. I never knew their names, despite knowing them (subconsciously, perhaps) for a little more than a decade. And each time, I don't fail to recognise them.


It was always dark, as if there was a blanket of fog over the whole place. No colors, blurry and voiceless - too surreal to be part of reality. I'd always knew in all instances that I was dreaming, but more often than not, I'm just an audience, looking on as the story unfolds.

I can never remember the beginnings, and as I awaken, the endings are cut short.

They were always stories, or rather, fragments of them. Sometimes they continued in the next few nights, at other times, they hid in the deep recesses of my mind. I cannot touch them, nor retrieve them, once they're gone.

I don't dream of flying anymore. The characters are all in hiatus, though I can still remember the flighty laughters.

The moods have changed.

I don't dream of running anymore. This time, the chases are more complex.

The stories evolved.

But the rules still remain - I'm always left wondering with the leftover pieces in my hands.

So, sometimes I wonder...