Seven thirty in the morning, I wake up and remember that I dreamt about you again, and a lot of people were dying and we were all crying, crying, crying. 

(I won’t say who, but it wasn’t nice for me to see the people I love so hurt.)

You were with us, even though you weren’t, and at one point you ran away and we chased after you, to make sure you were okay. I think you just wanted to admire the scenery, we were in a beautiful place.

Surprisingly, I didn’t wake up feeling terrible. I think I was just glad that I dreamt of you at all. It’s almost as if you haven’t actually gone anywhere, your image is still so clear.