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Short Story (unfinished)

Sometimes, when I’m in bed alone waiting for sleep to take me from the waking world, I think about everything that has taken place up to that moment in my life as though those moments are dreams that I can forget as soon as I open my eyes.

Outside rain pours. I can hear the drops of rain on the roof. Thunder resonates as lightning reveals what was hidden by the night, a passing storm outside, and a moment like revelation passes before me as I sit up in bed with the realization that these things that remain are there for a purpose.

In my room, night, meditating upon life, attempting to plot a path in life that will lead me away from everything I know as my life as it is for a future full of hope and potential I dream.

I have many forms of dreams: those I have while asleep and those I have while awake.

I lay back down. The sheet beneath me now cool from the absence of my heat. My mind wanders through a library of imagery. My hands linger in places aroused by fleeting images. My mind focuses on crushes, boys from my past, classmates, friends, strangers, and my body moves with these thoughts. Afterwards, I sleep, I find them once again in my dreams.

The sun shines like a wake up call. Blinding at first. Then welcoming. Hello, new day. I’m ready when you are.

Once dressed I walk to school. Routine. Everything I know is routine. Even my waking dreams are routine.

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