To Dream is to Forget

"I've dreamed a lot. I'm tired now from dreaming, but not tired of dreaming. No one tires of dreaming, because to dream is to forget, and forgetting does not weigh on us, it is a dreamless sleep throughout which we remain awake." - Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet

Am I awake or asleep? It's getting harder to know. For the last three months. At least, I think it's been three months, I've been stalked by my dreams. I get...these headaches. Like a drilling in my temples. My vision is impaired, and I need to close my eyes when they start. They've increased in frequency recently. Ever since...well that doesn't matter now. Sleep has a habit of sneaking up on me, when I least expect it.

One moment, I'll be wide awake and then the next I'm walking through some unknown place. No... that’s not right. They're never truly unknown. I... just am not sure where they are. There’s a familiarity, like a scent or an emotion attached to them, but… No matter how often I end up there, I am none the wiser. Everything is a little bit blurry; you know? That's when I can tell, I'm there and not here. My hands look fuzzy, as I move, pixelated or like they aren't solid anymore.

Sometimes, I find myself by the sea, at my favourite spot. I sit on the old brick wall that runs along the pier, and watch the tide roll in. It was...peaceful. I'd suck in the salty air through my nostrils and swear it was real. Then I’d be jolted back here, where it all feels darker, duller, more lifeless than there. Funny that...isn't it? I think so.

If it wasn't at the pier, on that wall overlooking the sea, it would be at the funfair. Imagine a fun fair where you didn’t need to worry about money. You could go on all the rides, as often as you like. I'd often sit on the Ferris Wheel and when my cabin reached the top, I'd just imagine it slowing down and stopping, and there I'd be, sitting at the top in silence. Looking out across the fun fair and beyond.

It was peaceful and tranquil. A magical moment. Then. I'd wake and I'd be back here in the misery and the noisy silence. Silence on the other side is different to silence here. There's always a clock...a buzz, something to remind you. There - it can be as quiet as you need it to be...as quiet as you want it to be.

I know I said I’m unsure of the difference and you’re probably thinking that doesn’t make sense. But that’s the thing. Lately, it feels like the dreamworld is bleeding into reality. I’ve noticed my hands becoming fuzzy even when I think I’m awake.

I can’t tell why, but it has something to do with June. The month? I can’t recall anything specific, but I keep seeing newspapers or TV screens in café windows, all highlighting June.

June is important and I don’t know why. I feel I’m getting closer, though, because…it’s hard to say. I feel colder…less calm…even over there.

My sanctuary feels less and less like a sanctuary, each time I return there. I wish I knew why June was important. Why June leaves me feeling cold and empty.

Wait…. who are you again? Where am I? What is this place?

“Alan, I’m Doctor Boswell. My team and I have been looking after you. Do you remember?”

I…I think so. What’s wrong with me?

“Do you remember what happened to your wife…to June?”

What?

“There was an accident. I am sorry”

No… not my dear June. Please tell me I’m dreaming. Please, Doc…

*

Thanks for reading!

Author's Notes: Updated and extended a little for the Unreliable Challenge. Another entry for the 3:00 AM Challenge that came to me very quickly. Almost stream of consciousness. Hope you enjoy it. It's rather sad, sorry about that.

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