FIFTY-SEVEN

There are some dreams you do wake up from, only to find you can’t remember them at all.

But that doesn’t mean the dreams don’t matter. That their epistrophic wisdom isn’t playing inside of you, over and over and over and again. Somewhere. Somehow. Charting your course in ways you aren’t even aware of. Marching you straight toward suffering or glory.

These are the dreams that can make you feel sad when you should be happy.

These are the dreams that hold our most private of truths.

These are the dreams that destinies are made of.