Dreams We Remember

We all have that one repetitive dream.

The looming shadow behind my headboard at fourteen-years-old

was a dementor coming to take my soul.

Which meant

I had been reading way too much Harry Potter.

Some dreams are reruns of life events,

However, altered to seem new.

That kid in the corner wore a green shirt 

that day at the dojo, not orange.

Like déjà vu, but not.

Then there are the bizarre

border-line nightmare dreams.

The one where the Hoodwinked bunny

is a live toy, chasing me through a locked toy store,

where I’m the size of toys and toys are the size of humans.

Our dreams only make sense to us,

So then why do we insist 

on telling our roommate about that dream 

where the highway was like a rollercoaster 

and the car drove on a loop, and we didn’t fall to our deaths?

Because it was so weird that

we needed someone else to share in the weirdness.

Because it was so scary that 

we needed someone to console us.

Because it was so funny 

we wanted to laugh with someone.

The dreams we have are as odd as we are,

as outrageous as our imagination,

and as confusing as life itself.