remember-to-dream

[remember-to-dream]

[remember-to-dream]

Letters You’ll Never Read – Dreams

Sometimes I dream of you.

And every time it happens, it throws me off course, spins me into a loop I can’t quite break. Not a loop of us, not exactly. But of meaning. Of wondering.

Are you a symbol of something I’m searching for?

Or a flashing sign of everything I should be running from?

Are you the embodiment of a craving, a loneliness, a possibility? Or are you a lesson I haven’t yet accepted, wrapped in a pretty smile and deep brown eyes I would willingly drown in?

I wake up stuck.

Not in love.

Not in longing.

But in curiosity.

And that’s the worst part.

Because let’s be real: if you’re showing up in my dreams without an invitation, we’ve got a problem. Either we’re meant to be - which, let’s not kid ourselves, I’m not your type and you’re far out of my league - or you’re just a beautiful metaphor for something else.

I still don’t know what.

I don’t know what you are.

So yes, I hate dreaming of us.

But daydreaming? That’s a whole different mess.

Because when I’m awake, I can twist scenarios in my head until they almost feel real. I can pretend we’d click, really click, if life had just lined up differently. If we had met halfway instead of watching from opposite sides of the room.

We’re both so jaded, aren’t we?

You, with lust and the distractions you never seem to run out of.

Me, with this tiny fixation on you, maybe not you as a person, but the idea of you. The idea of almost.

And no, I don’t blame either of us.

You don’t know any better.

And I… I suppose I still try to keep a piece of myself untouched by the cynicism. Untouched by the things that hardened you.

So sure, I daydream.

It’s cute. It’s annoying. It’s not my favorite.

Because if I had to choose… I’d rather dream of you while I sleep and wake up with the soft relief that it was only a dream.

That you were just a flicker.

Just mist.

It’s the daydreams that linger.

The “what ifs” that dig in like thorns.

Feeding a dying obsession like a habit I can’t kick. Like a hit I still chase.

So yes,

Sometimes,

I dream of you.

And I wish I didn’t.

But I do.

[remember-to-dream]

Rumors, You Have Them

You’re an enigma,

Magnetic in the way only mystery can be.

You pad through the world,

A shadow in a room full of neon.

No fireworks,

No grand entrances,

Just a glance,

A tilt of your head,

A half-smirk,

And suddenly there are stories.

So many voices swirl around you.

Whispers echo in corners and across timelines,

None of them quite certain,

But all of them are hungry.

You’re so private, so careful.

A locked diary, a velvet rope,

But online?

Your double-taps and quick likes

Slip out like accidental secrets.

And the rumors?

Oh.

They gather like perfume in the air.

A string of late-night hook-ups?

Believable.

A pattern in the bodies and faces you like?

I’ve noticed.

A baby on the way?

That one’s deliciously reckless,

Almost poetic, really.

Rumors.

We all wear them,

Like borrowed clothes,

A little too tight,

A little too bold.

People speak,

Some truth, some venom, some wild imaginings.

The stories spread,

Drift from lips to screens,

Reach places you’ve never even been.

Rumors, baby.

They’ll follow you anywhere,

Until you turn around

And start one of your own.

[remember-to-dream]

Flutter, Then Fade

There are days I ignore you.

Not physically, no, we don’t have that kind of closeness.

But in the quiet corners of my mind, I let you fade.

And when I do, my heart stills.

It feels easier each time.

Lighter. Freer.

Almost… happier.

Then boom,

a photo.

You.

Tsk.

My heart stirs with that familiar flutter.

My mind follows, quick to trace the details.

The softness of your eyes,

The curve of your lips,

The way your presence lingers through pixels.

And in that pause,

My heart cracks.

Not for what we are,

But for the sadness I still see in you.

Maybe if life had been kinder,

Maybe if fate weren’t so cruel,

We would have collided by now;

Brilliant and reckless.

But we haven’t.

So I do the only thing I can:

I think of you and send my wishes to the wind.

Hope you find peace.

Hope you find joy.

My heart flutters once more,

Before my mind returns

To the quiet place

Where forgetting feels like survival.

[remember-to-dream]

To Be Needed

To be wanted;

is to be desired like firelight on a cold night.

To be needed;

is to be essential, like breath, like blood.

But which is stronger?

Which binds deeper?

You can be needed,

and still feel invisible.

You can be wanted,

but never held for long.

One leaves you hollow,

the other leaves you aching.

And somewhere in the silence between those truths,

your soul begins to whisper the answer.

Ask yourself,

Which one breaks you less?

Which one lets you sleep at night?

That, my love,

is where your truth lives.

Not in their arms,

but in the space your heart refuses to compromise.

[remember-to-dream]

Letters You Never Read - Part I

Dear You,

Not to be a downer, but I miss you.

Not just in the abstract, not just the idea of you.

I miss being able to see you just a few feet away.

Close enough to read your expression without words, to feel the weight of your presence even in silence.

There was comfort in that proximity, a kind of quiet understanding I didn’t realize I’d crave until it was gone.

But maybe that closeness meant more to me than it did to you.

You always seemed more invested in your screen,

scrolling endlessly through faces, bodies, lives

that never truly belonged to you.

They’re not real, you know.

Or maybe you do, and that’s the point.

You say you’re looking for something real,

but how can you find it buried beneath all that noise?

And here I am, watching you chase it and wondering if I should be chasing something too?

I’ve always believed we’re drawn to reflections of ourselves.

That the people we’re pulled toward,

mirror back the pieces of us we recognize, or long for.

But the thing about mirrors is… they don’t always tell the truth.

They can be warped, cracked, or deceptive.

Sometimes you look into one and see something beautiful that isn’t really there.

Other times, you’re standing in a funhouse,

surrounded by versions of yourself that feel just a little off.

So I have to ask…

What does that say about me?

If I’m drawn to you?

If I see something in you that maybe you’ve forgotten or never noticed?

What does that mean?

Am I chasing something real?

Or have we both fallen into the illusion of smoke and mirrors dressed up as fate?

I don’t have the answer.

But I keep asking.

Because I care.

Because I miss you.

Because I don’t know if you ever missed me, too.

[remember-to-dream]

My Sun

The days are bright.

The sun shines,

second only to the brightest thing I’ve ever known:

Your smile.

The one I’ll miss

when I’m no longer in your orbit,

the one that lit up my shadows,

the one I loved

before grief dimmed it like an eclipse.

What I wouldn’t give

to stand a few feet away

and see it again;

not in a photo,

not in a dream,

but real, alive, and aimed at me.

I fell for that smile.

Now you tuck it away,

like a secret,

like a relic of the light you used to be.

So I guess,

for now,

the sun reclaims its throne

as the brightest star in my sky.

But it still comes second.

Always second;

to you.

[remember-to-dream]

My Beautiful Star,

I see it in your eyes;

The echo of light you no longer chase.

I feel it in your aura,

dimmed but not extinguished.

I see it in what you do,

and all the things you can’t bring yourself to do.

The late nights,

The women who never stay,

The silence where dreams used to live.

The brilliance that once set the sky on fire…

now lost to shadows.

Grief stole your sun,

and you’ve been walking the night ever since.

Loss carved itself into your ribs.

Sadness… it doesn’t just follow you;

You’re drowning in it.

But I’m here.

Even if I’m not the one you reach for,

let me be the hand that steadies you.

Let me carry some of that sorrow.

Let me remind you:

Your light is still there,

buried, not broken.

[remember-to-dream]

[remember-to-dream]

[remember-to-dream]

[remember-to-dream]

The Funny Thing About Obsession

Obsession’s a funny thing.

You never know it’s an obsession,

not at first.

It starts soft.

Maybe you just want to see them again.

Hear their laugh.

Watch their smile bloom like sunrise.

Catch their scent,

accidentally on purpose.

Feel their presence.

Presence.

That’s the one.

That’s the ache you chase.

What we crave,

what we can’t hold.

That’s where it roots.

Then you find yourself

thinking about them

too often.

Looking them up.

Wondering where they are,

who they’re with,

what they’re doing

without you.

But you stay back.

You’re not a stalker.

You have boundaries.

Still… the obsession knocks.

Soft at first.

Then louder.

On your heart.

On your brain.

It itches.

It pulses.

You know you’ll never have them

But then the what if creeps in.

What if you could?

What if it’s just timing?

What if all it takes is trying?

Changing?

Becoming what they’d notice?

Dress differently.

Speak differently.

Go where they might go.

And slowly,

you forget who you are

trying to get to who they are.

You lose yourself

trying to reach them.

And that’s when obsession

becomes addiction—

an addiction

to the one

you crave.

[remember-to-dream]

That Moment Before

The craziest thing about falling in love

and not being caught—

isn’t the fall.

It’s not even the impact.

It’s the moment

right before you shatter.

That split second

When you realize:

This isn’t a flight.

This is a crash.

That’s the moment that shapes you.

Not the pain,

But the knowing it’s coming.

On an emotional level,

Some people try again,

again,

until they mistake falling

for flying.

Until love becomes obsession.

On a physical level,

some wither,

some chase,

Some learn to live with the ache.

On a psychological level,

Some let it go.

Some never do.

Some clutch the memory like a blade,

cutting themselves

to prove they felt something.

But that moment before?

That inhale before impact?

That’s the truth.

That’s where the fear is born.

That’s what you’ll carry,

even after you stand again.

Maybe that’s why obsession exists—

to study the beauty

before the break.

To relive the almost,

again and again,

even when it never arrives.

And maybe that’s why

Some obsessions don’t look like wounds

But like worship.

Then again…

The line between obsession and addiction

is so damn blurry

When what you crave

Once felt like hope.

[remember-to-dream]

The problem with falling

isn’t the fall itself—

it’s the splintering,

soul-breaking aftermath

if they never catch you.

It’s the ache of

existing so loudly

in your own heart,

while being a ghost

in theirs.

It’s the quiet terror

of not even existing

in their world,

in their mind.

And maybe—

just maybe,

that’s why obsessions exist.

Not for love,

but for the illusion

that we matter

somewhere.

[remember-to-dream]

You read Murakami.

They read marketing.

[remember-to-dream]

It’s A Pause

The shattering sound?

That’s my heart.

The piercing scream?

My soul,

ripped from my chest—

because leaving you

Hurts that much.

I’ll keep you,

not in my arms,

but in memory.

In the soft corners of my heart.

How your smile lit up my world.

How your eyes crinkled,

How your chocolate eyes held galaxies

I ached to map.

Your skin,

your hair,

your voice—

Your presence.

All of it,

now out of reach.

Life is cruel like that,

letting us orbit

just close enough to ache,

never close enough to touch.

And now?

It drifts me further away.

Perhaps this is not an ending,

But a pause.

Not a goodbye,

But a gentle see you later.

Either way—

You have my heart.

Still.

[remember-to-dream]

That Feeling

That feeling—you know the one?

The ache of never having you.

The orbit without collision.

The silent gravity pulling me toward you,

again and again.

That feeling?

It stands at a crossroads.

A crossroads of hopelessness.

A crossroads of wishfulness.

A crossroads of maybe.

Of never.

Of letting go but still holding on.

So what do I do

when all I want is you?

When you move forward

carrying pieces of my heart

like forgotten change in your pocket?

What do I do,

but force myself to let go

of someone I never really had?

It’s a funny feeling—

to mourn something that never bloomed,

Yet still leaves thorns.

It gives me something to feel,

and something to lose.

Something to love,

and something to resent.

Something to hold,

and something that slips through my hands.

Do you know it?

That feeling?