Sleepy musings

I have escaped for the weekend, eloping with myself back home.  Home is not simply a room with a bed; it is a place of nostalgia and haunting happiness, or at least it is for me.  I will not call my dorm room home just because my things are there.  Home is the place where I dream.  

I have been dreaming a lot more since i've arrived at my home, my real home, where my time is less occupied. Sometimes I think that the meaning of life is dreams and dreaming.  Dreamt of's and dreaming of's.   I know my dreams and a few of my friends' dreams but certainly not everybody's, and even though I do not, I know they are there.  They exist, these dreams and that is all I can ever know of their prevail.

I say this because dreams are so personal, so utterly indescribable despite the capacity that language has for adjectives. The irony is that everybody is dreaming, all at the same time. We are dreamers, we are always dreaming.  We are dreaming in the same way that all of our hearts are beating together, and our diaphragms fluxing and our eyelids blinking.  Not just you and me, but billions of people; humans.  People we will never even see in our lifetime.  There is a rhythm in the world that I have been deaf to, although i am starting to hear it now.  The rhythm is so beautiful I don't know how I could've gone my entire life without noticing it, feeling it.  We will never understand one another but are still united by being human, by our dreams.  We are all so apart of each other and it is breathtaking. It shakes me.  It shakes me to my bones.