Last night's dream stayed with me.
I tried to recreate it—
gave it almost everything I had.
Eighty, maybe ninety percent of it survived.
And I realized something soft and strange:
if a dream is described with enough honesty,
it can be rebuilt—
so clearly that forgetting becomes impossible.
That was my third image.
I was sitting on the ground,
still.
And he was moving—
walking with his friends,
passing through my vision.
In that moment,
my past and my present sat together,
quietly questioning the future of my dreams.
I saw that dream again—
the one from long ago.
I don't know what it means,
but it doesn't scare me.
It feels… gentle.
Like a good sign I'm not ready to trust yet.
But the day I opened the needle,
and his message didn't appear in my chatbox,
my heart sank—
just a little,
but enough to notice.
Sometimes I tell myself
our last conversation was fine.
Maybe his college admission happened.
Maybe studies took over.
Still, a question lingers—
does college life really change people this fast?
Does replying become that difficult,
or do people simply drift
without saying goodbye?