I called her. No reply. The message stayed unseen. Minutes passed, then hours, and I kept checking my phone, waiting. Refreshing the chat like an idiot, hoping for a notification that never came. But then, out of nowhere, a reply popped up—“Sorry ra, I was busy.” And just like that, she called me back. We talked like we always did, like nothing had ever changed. It felt real, natural, exactly how it should have been. But then, I woke up. And I realized—it was just a dream. Again.
In my dream, she always had an explanation. “I didn’t see your call,” she’d say. “I was caught up with something.” And then, as if making it up to me, she’d call back, talk like we used to, laugh like she still cared. My mind, in its desperate need for closure, gave me the words I wished she had actually said.
For those few moments, while I was lost in that dream, everything felt right. It made sense. The waiting, the silence, the unanswered calls—it all had a reason. But then I woke up. And just like every other time, reality crashed down on me. The messages were still unread. The calls were still unanswered. And I realized—it was all just my mind tricking me again, feeding me lies to keep me from falling apart.
It’s a cruel game. The dream gives me hope, a momentary high, a version of life where everything is okay. But when I open my eyes, the emptiness is waiting for me. It’s like my own mind is making sure I suffer twice—once in reality and once again when I realize that my dreams are nothing but illusions.
And now, in reality, I sit here, staring at my phone. The call log still shows my missed call to her, unanswered. The message I sent—still unread. I tell myself not to care, not to expect anything. But deep down, I know I do. I know that every time I see her online, every time I watch her interact with everyone except me, it stings just a little more.
I don’t know what’s worse—the pain of waking up or the fact that, despite knowing how it will end, I still look forward to the dreams. Because in those short, fleeting moments, I get to live in the world I wish was real.
And in the background, as I wake up, the lyrics still echo in my mind: “Wake me up, come find me…”
All these days, I tried to control my dreams, to take charge, to break the cycle. I learned about lucid dreaming, practiced techniques, hoping to escape this endless loop. And for a while, it worked. I stopped seeing the same dream, stopped reliving the same painful scenarios. But now, my mind has found a new way to play with me. It no longer traps me in repetition—it gives me answers. Answers that feel real, answers that comfort me, answers that I know deep down aren’t true. But they feel so damn real in the moment. Maybe my mind isn’t tricking me anymore. Maybe it’s just giving me what I refuse to accept in reality. I don’t even know if it’s day or night anymore. Everything is blurred together. I go through the motions in reality, but somehow, my dreams are where things actually happen.