Wow. Our dreams are masters of illusion. They bend and shift, aligning with our quietest wishes, giving us exactly what we long for — wrapping fantasy in the comforting disguise of reality. It’s not me who’s dreaming, it’s the dream that’s living through me.
This morning I woke up early — around six. Opened my eyes, stared at the ceiling, breathed in the silence of morning… Then, somehow, I must have drifted back to sleep, though I didn’t notice the moment it happened. It felt like I had already gotten up. I reached for my phone. Opened Telegram…
And he was online. 1:29 AM. I smiled — something in me lit up. It felt like he’d come just to wish me goodnight. (Strange, how illness affects not just the body, but the mind too. Suddenly I find myself believing in the supernatural, in signs, in the magic of connection through a glowing screen.)
His status read: “Happy couples don’t go online at night…”
And as if that wasn’t enough — I clicked into a diary and there was his comment: “I miss you too… It hurts over there…”
I teared up. It was painfully tender. My soul cracked a little, but filled with light at the same time.
And then — a voice, cool and logical, cut through: “No. That’s not real. That’s not how this works.”
And I woke up. The phone was still beside me. The morning light was still soft. And everything I had just felt… was a dream. A painfully vivid, heartbreakingly beautiful dream. But only a dream.