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  • Tristan J. Miller


Almost every day I journal for myself. Sometimes I like to share them. This is one of those cases. This post is not particularly pleasant, but I think has something worth sharing contained in it.

I have been having worsening nightmares lately. I dream of assassinations, pursuits, and heartbreak. I awaken to find my cheeks wet with tears.

I don’t know from where these dreams have come, but I do not care.

I don’t want them any longer.

I rarely dream and when I do it is rarely pleasant. To have dreams several nights in a row is an unexpected, unpleasant, and strange to me.

I wake up groggy and confused. My REM cycle interrupted by sunlight, loved ones, or panic.

Shaking off the last vestiges of whatever fear mongering abscess of my own psyche linger, I pour water and place grounds into the coffee maker.

I wait hearing the steam burst into the air.

I still do not understand myself.

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