Last night, I had a hyperrealistic dream. Realistic enough to make me dart upright in bed upon realizing that I desperately wanted the dream to stop. I sit right up, not knowing what time it was. My alarm hasn’t rung yet. Good. I lie down again, because despite the worries that dream caused me, I wanted it to continue.
As far as my recollection goes, what I vaguely remember is myself in our high school basketball court, standing under the hoop. I was talking to a couple of people I vaguely remember, and who I am confident do not exist in my waking life. Then this guy walks up to me. Tall, tanned, with thick eyebrows. He’s a bit lean, with tattoos on his neck, shoulders, and arms. He was wearing a black shirt, and oddly enough, he introduces himself as someone who’s still in high school.
Well, that should’ve been the first clue that there was no way in the world that this was reality, but then when you’re in a dream, how the hell are you supposed to know, anyway?
The scene shifts to my room. Here we are in bed, lying side by side, watching a Nickelodeon cartoon. I remember him making some jokes. I laugh. He’s gently brushing his hands on mine. He touches my face and pulls it close. And then he kisses me. I kiss back hesitantly, but our exchanges become longer and more passionate. And then my mind starts to panic, desperately thinking this has to stop but I don’t know how.
And that’s when I wake up. And I go back to sleep again, thinking I need to see how the dream continues. I was going to tell him that this wasn’t possible, because I was in a relationship. Looking back on it, I ask myself: Why did I even have to apologize for something I did in a dream — for something that only existed in my mind, and had no bearing on reality? I don’t know.
The dream continues, as with all things that make no sense at all. I’m sitting in a square table, along with other unfamiliar faces (special cameo appearance: JAMES FRANCO SITTING BESIDE ME!). With only one seat to my left remaining, I hope that he arrives soon — to no avail. He doesn’t appear again. We never get the chance to speak to each other. I wasn’t able to tell him that it wasn’t going to work.
And then I wake up.
If this person from my dream existed for a fraction of a moment in my mind, is it probable that he exists, somewhere in the grand scheme of things, in this vast population, this sea of over seven billion people? If he was but a mixture of all the people I’ve met and desired, then why didn’t he/they appear as is? Is there some unclear memory, a second of acquaintance I’m forgetting here, that resurfaced from my subconscious? Does this dream have any meaning in my waking life?