Tears of a Dream

I haven't cried in a long time. I don't know whether that's a good thing or a bad thing. Aside from when I was a child, I don't think I ever cried much to begin with. When I did cry, the memory doesn't go away. The occasion, the place, everything. Within the past 10 years, I think I cried exactly thrice. One because of basketball, and the rest because of the same occasion. Same occasion, different reasons.

Last night, however, I cried in my dream. And just like when I did in real life, I remember the dream so vividly. The occasion, the cause.

It wasn't anything big. Nor did it involve anyone, really. It was such a tranquil feeling, or at least that's what the dreamverse me was feeling. The moment was serene, unsullied by the vices and distractions of the real world.

I was young again, on a rooftop, listening to a nostalgic tune that I thought I had long forgotten. It brought such a comforting feeling. Like a hug, tight and warm, embracing me with its melody, lulling me into vulnerability.

Before I knew it, streams were going down my cheeks. I was able to let go of myself.

I was able to let myself be human again.

I was able to set myself free.

Oh, how I long to be free.

Free to feel. Free to live. Free to let go of everything and embrace what I was and what I have become.

Maybe one day, I will wake up and be able to do what my dream-self was able to do. Or perhaps, one day I can go to sleep and live forever in Dreamland, never having to worry about waking up.

A man can dream.