You’re going through the motions at work when those dreams you try not to think about begin flooding your senses. You try denying them not because they’re unpleasant, but because you don’t want to up disappointed. It’s something you’ve done your entire life, it’s nothing new, but when the dreams mean so much, it’s so dangerous to allow yourself to breathe in their charm. Closing your eyes, you picture her stood before you, a smile spreading across her lips as she holds out her arms ready for your embrace. So many possibilities. So many words bubbling beneath the surface, yet I feel strangely numb. I preach that life is for living, and that every opportunity to speak the truth should be grabbed with both hands, yet I’m too weak to do anything about it. I’m just sat here in bed not knowing what I should be doing. That’s a lie of course. I know exactly what I should be doing, but I’m too full of self-doubt to be doing it. I’m convinced that nothing will come of my dreams, and that it’s all destined to failure so I should just give up. Going for a walk around the backstreets while smoking cigarettes, my head momentarily stops throbbing allowing me to think clearly. Not that it helps much, but I appreciate it anyhow. There’s no one around, no traffic whatsoever. There aren’t even any stars in the sky, let alone the moon. Swallowed up by darkness away from any streetlights, I convince myself that it will be okay, that if I stay true to myself, then everything will follow. But as I walk the lonely pavement, I know that I’m full of shit. Returning home, I run a bath and wash down some aspirin with a beer. Slipping in, it feels as if I’m unbecoming, but it’s just one of my funny turns. Laying there looking up at the window keeping an eye out for spiders, the water soon melts away the pain leaving me feeling a little easier. Telling myself that I need to grow a pair, I think about cancer. Cursing at the stupidity of it all, I get out and open another beer before sitting down at my desk. I haven’t even bothered to dry myself off. Haven’t even dressed.