I'm starting to think more about what my dreams mean, and that's a horrible idea because recently I've been having dreams that taste bad after I wake up.

Someone hit me across the face and I was pretty sure I loved them and when I woke up it still fucking stung, like when you drink rotten milk and you can't get the taste out of your mouth, even if it's long gone.

Thinking about what your dreams mean is the scariest thing in the world - because then you have to acknowledge that somewhere, deep inside of you, you felt this way.

Once I had the worst dream in my entire life and I still remember exactly what happened. I have told one person, probably because she was pretty fucked up, too. And she told me: "Dreams don't mean anything."

And she was fucking lying to both of us; because everyone is scared of what their subconscious truly thinks about their lives and what's going on around them.

I still hold my nose when I'm under water in dreams. I can read and I can sing hymns in dreams. I can feel the purest sort of dread in dreams.

I've sacrificed myself and I've fallen in love and eaten cupcakes and tasted them. And I've kissed girls in dreams before I even came to the realization that I was bisexual. I brushed it off, because, "Dreams don't mean anything."

I brushed it off because I hated facing the reality that my subconscious knew more than I did. I try not to read into them anymore.

Because I can recall several times that I've ruined my life because I acted on a dream.

But now I realize that dreams are like a free pass to what I really think. And hell, I need that nowadays.

This is a horrible idea.