You know that kind of dream that you forget right away? As soon as you wake up, the dream dissolves into a puddle of mud so murky, and it evaporates into million little dusts you know you can touch but cannot feel and they just disappear. You know they are there–dancing around you (tauntingly, mockingly, perhaps) but you cannot see. It is achingly frustrating. And you go on your day knowing you are surrounded by something you want but cannot remember what when and where.
You know that kind of dream?
Well, you’re that kind of dream.
(I want to remember you,
please remember me.)