The alarm screeches in my head.
My body tenses; my hand swings on autopilot, hurdling my nightstand through frigid air.
The crash startles away my animal instincts, allowing rationality to take control.
20 minutes to get ready. It's Monday morning.
I wipe the drool from my five o'clock shadow and rub the darkness from my eyes, bloodshot and blurred.
Countless thoughts race through my mind: I'm still alert in conscious dreams.
... ... Zzz ... ...
I don't think about how my day's going to be, because that will just make it worse.
It's another day I get to live.
Time I have to spend to keep going.
There's other options out there; a barrage of choices flickering in the wind, free falling in slow motions over the waters of time.
And as each day passes I take a breath as one finally touches, contaminating the dream into an unintelligible lost hope.
I sigh as these glimpses capture my heart with the imaginary unimaginable, but to no surprise, none of it will happen the way I imagine it to be.
We can be dreamers, but if that's all we know then what difference does it make, for none of it was ever real?