For a while I didn't have any dreams. At night I slept peacefully and I woke up rested, with none of the detritus of half-forgotten dreams to cloud my mind. Of course you don't really notice that sort of thing while it's happening. Instead you just notice that you're happier and more productive, and why would you ever think to question something like that?
So this week the dreams came back. And at first I didn't notice, because you don't really notice that sort of thing while it's happening. But once again I'd wake up and stumble through the waking world all out of sorts, my mind full of the false memories of dreams. They'd shatter throughout the day, of course, as they drifted into my consciousness and, following a moment of confusion, I'd realize they were impossible. I'd never actually met him. We'd never reconciled.
I don't know how long it had been. I don't know if I'm describing it properly. But I spent so much time going through life without ever having to question whether or not the thoughts in my head were actually, really true. It was beautiful and comforting, exactly like a dream is. I think I finally figured out why we dream, after walking this planet for so many years. We need dreams to flood our thoughts with lies. Otherwise, how would we ever learn what doubt is?
