I don’t really dream anymore.
At least, not in the way people usually mean it.
I used to—back when sleep felt like slipping into another world instead of just… shutting down time for a while. But now it’s different. I’ve always been told it’s connected to my seizures, that they tend to happen during REM sleep. So maybe the part of me that used to wander off and build dream-worlds just doesn’t get to anymore.
What’s left is mostly darkness behind closed eyes. Quiet. Blank. Sometimes restless.
And the few dreams I can remember from before… they weren’t the kind you’d want to return to.
If I had to revisit one… I honestly wouldn’t.
That’s the strange part of the question.
People usually think of dreams like soft memories you miss—floating cities, lost loved ones, impossible skies. Mine were never like that.
Mine were nightmares.
Not the cinematic kind either. Not the kind you turn into art and call it beautiful suffering. Just… intense, heavy, lingering things that stayed with me long after waking up.
Still, if I had to choose one to step back into, it would be the ones that left the clearest imprint. Not because I want them again—but because I remember them like broken films on repeat.
1) The house that wouldn’t stop falling
There was a dream where a house was falling on me.
Not once. Not twice.
Over and over again.
It wasn’t even about escape after a while—it was just repetition. Like the world had glitched and decided collapse was the only rule that mattered. I’d wake up and still feel the weight of it, like my body hadn’t fully accepted that it was over.
2) The zoo that stopped being contained
Another one was worse in a different way.
All the animals were loose—lions, tigers, bears, things that were never supposed to share the same space anymore. It wasn’t just a zoo escaping. It was like containment itself gave up.
I remember being trapped in a car, watching the world outside turn into something I couldn’t negotiate with. Glass. Steel. Breathing too loudly. Waiting without knowing what I was waiting for.
There was nowhere “safe” in it. Just degrees of not-yet-found.
3) The floor that kept disappearing
And then there was the one that repeated.
I was running from something I never got to see clearly. That might have been the worst part—no face, no shape, just the certainty that I needed to keep moving.
The floor kept falling away behind me.
Darkness wasn’t around me. It was becoming the ground.
And every time I thought I’d escaped it, I’d be back in it again. Same motion. Same panic. Same impossible stretch of running through something that didn’t want to end.
That one didn’t feel like a dream.
It felt like being stuck inside a loop that forgot how to close itself.
So no… I don’t think I’d revisit any of them.
Not because they were meaningless. They weren’t. They left impressions that still echo in strange ways, like memories that don’t quite know where to land in waking life.
But if dreaming is supposed to be a place you return to—
mine were never places.
Just events.
Just fragments.
Just things I survived without fully understanding why they were happening in the first place.
And maybe that’s the real answer.
If I could revisit a dream, I think I’d choose the first time I ever had one that felt safe. Not the nightmares. Not the loops. Not the falling.
Something soft enough to stay.
Something that doesn’t disappear the moment I wake up.
Because I don’t think I miss the dreams I had.
I think I miss the idea that sleep used to mean going somewhere else.
The Cozy Nook | Stories · Food ·Gaming·Magic 