I wake up, reach the alarm clock and put the noise out. This time I'm happy, the dream was positive. It wasn't a twisted reflection of my distant past, my dysfunctional family or my crumbling house in Catia, the raving lunatic asylum that was my secondary school or any of the other ghosts from the past that often come out to play their distorted games in the still of the night. It was a dream about future and hope and confidence. And I still..
No, I don't. In the time it took me to think or, rather, to feel that, the dream has vanished like mist in a sunny morning. I can no longer remember anything about it except that positive feeling. So I sigh, stretch, struggle a bit to get up and get on with my waking life, hoping maybe tomorrow I may get a glimpse of what it was about.
