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Description
I had this dream last night, and the night before, and the night before that, and the night tomorrow, and the nights yet to come.

I had this dream where the meaningless talks about the future and the careless mutters about decisions and choices became real. Where we were told we only had a matter of time left as they strapped invisible clocks around our ink-stained wrists. They weighed us down, heavier than anything we've ever imagined, but we had to keep going. It wasn't a matter of who-could-hold-it-the-longest, but more of a personal vendetta between ourselves and the finish line.
And then we get to the finish line and realize we've wasted so much. We've taken so much for granted and now we're looking at a vast, empty stretch of land where what we took for granted has gone. Everything that has stood by us through the years is merely a ghost, a whisper we can barely hear. The horizon is masked by a haze that we've got to venture into to find out what's in store. The taste of excitement has gone and is left with a unforgiveable taste of fear.

And you. Every night you approach me; you stand in front of me and you hold me with soft, warm hands, hands that have held me and comforted me when no one else would, hands that have made me feel safer than anybody else. You open your mouth to say something to me, to tell me what's going to happen next, to tell me where you're going and where we're going.

But then I wake up and I don't know.
So I push the future to the back of my mind and don't think about it.

Description
I had this dream last night, and the night before, and the night before that, and the night tomorrow, and the nights yet to come.

I had this dream where the meaningless talks about the future and the careless mutters about decisions and choices became real. Where we were told we only had a matter of time left as they strapped invisible clocks around our ink-stained wrists. They weighed us down, heavier than anything we've ever imagined, but we had to keep going. It wasn't a matter of who-could-hold-it-the-longest, but more of a personal vendetta between ourselves and the finish line.
And then we get to the finish line and realize we've wasted so much. We've taken so much for granted and now we're looking at a vast, empty stretch of land where what we took for granted has gone. Everything that has stood by us through the years is merely a ghost, a whisper we can barely hear. The horizon is masked by a haze that we've got to venture into to find out what's in store. The taste of excitement has gone and is left with a unforgiveable taste of fear.

And you. Every night you approach me; you stand in front of me and you hold me with soft, warm hands, hands that have held me and comforted me when no one else would, hands that have made me feel safer than anybody else. You open your mouth to say something to me, to tell me what's going to happen next, to tell me where you're going and where we're going.

But then I wake up and I don't know.
So I push the future to the back of my mind and don't think about it.