"Dreams feel real while we're in them. It's only when we wake up that we realize something was actually strange. "

I was thinking about that line in Inception. About how dreams always start somewhere in the middle. You don't know how you got to where you are, you just know that you are there when you are.

I was struggling to remember how I got here. And the earliest origins of 'coming' I could find were fragments: an old wooden door with smurf stickers, a bottle of milk that I was forced to give up, crying behind a red toyota corolla feeling cheated, and a king cobra that had slithered his way underneath a counter in the kitchen that I was whisked away from and wasn't allowed to see.

And here I am. In the middle of a dream. Getting crispier on the outside, but decidedly gooey and underbaked on the inside.

Somewhere in the middle. And I have not yet decided if it's better to explode or slowly burn into ash. Not that I ever have any real say in the matter.

But I hope the unpleasantness at the end will be like the dizzies after waking up from too long a sleep, that can be shaken off and wiped clean with a hot shower. Maybe it will even feel like coming back to where you came from, a place you've left since a long time ago.

I hope I will know the people I used to know.