The last two nights, I’ve had dreams… dreams that seemed very real indeed. The night before last, some kind of festival which for some reason I had to escape from, but the buildings I was in were a maze that I couldn’t find my way out of, no matter how much I ran… But yet still, for some reason, the layout was somehow… familiar. And then last night, I dreamt that I was at a school where bullying and voilence dominated everyone’s lives there, and that I was weak and could do nothing to stop getting beaten up…

Why? Why wouldn’t my dreams gravitate to the swords and magic that would solve the problems, as dreams like these so often used to in the past?

And how… how… at certain points in the dreams, I felt my real self telling me I was dreaming, that it didn’t matter. But how is that possible, without waking up? Are outer-self thoughts beginning to impose on inner-self dreams, just as the inverse already happens…? Are dreams and reality becoming even less separate than they used to be?

Perhaps… perhaps, it’s all written into our story. A story that requires an ending…