I keep a dream journal
On the top of my desk, waiting to be filled with the impossible
Groggy morning scribbles with a dried-out pen
Bullets of near-forgotten snapshots
Reading it back feels like looking at a picture of yourself you don’t remember being taken
Many mornings pass with nothing filled in
An empty slot under today’s date, disappointingly vacant
But there are dawns when parts of the dream linger
When the stew that your mind threw together during the night has leftovers
Feelings from the day before forgotten, replaced with moods from the past night
So innocently my journal sits
Not unaware of its contents, but wisely quiet about them
Because if my bowl of dreams tips
And a drop of my jumbled mind bounces back out into my head while I’m sleeping
There’s nothing new to write about in the morning
So each night I pray for a new dream
A new bullet of a snapshot
A new groggy morning scribble with a dried-out pen
A new part of the impossible
To fill my dream journal