The idea of sleep-talking has always been intriguing. I've always wondered if I ever did it. Can you imagine how many secrets can be unveiled? How many stories would be told? How many confessions could be made? And you can do all this unconscious. In deep sleep. Your body lying dead but your thoughts still persist and are channeled through your own mouth. Can someone really be betrayed by his/her own mouth? I mean these thoughts were meant to be inside your head. Sailing in the oceans of your mind. You believed so. Then they, somehow, find their way out. To the world. And to whomever listening. To me, at least, that feels like betrayal. Now, doesn't that sound intriguing?

I dream sometimes. But nothing is really special about those dreams. Little of which I recall. I dream of places I've never been to. People I haven't met. Things that shouldn't happen. And then I wake up. And I forget about these dreams. Intentionally? I don't have an answer to that. But let's say it's not on purpose. But when I wake up, I feel like I have been away for a while. Craving something familiar. Somewhere. Someone. Anything that can reunite me again with the real world. For I've been lost in foreignness. Loneliness too.

I once told my therapist about the dreams. He said I should try recalling at least one. I told him I couldn't. I lied. Because I can. I do. I do remember some parts. Like when I dreamt of Silver taking her diploma. That wasn't unfamiliar. Not weird either. And when I dreamt of playing hide and seek with Jeff in Aunt Stacy's back yard. That was normal too. I also remember dreaming of Aunt Stacy strangling Silver. That's a dream I tried forgetting, but it refused to fade away. Like my memory was enjoying it. But why? Maybe it's the pills I take. Maybe if I stop them I would be able to forget this dream. Or maybe if I increase the dosage. Double it? Triple it? Will that do? Sedate me? Make me forget that dream?

I think I know the reason behind my brain's fascination with this dream. The truth is I wouldn't choose forgetting it. It keeps me busy, you know. I think of it when I want to escape. When I need to hide within a story. Because I would rather hide here. In this dream. Where I am just a witness. Where someone else plays villain. Where I am at no blame. It keeps me safe from that other dream. Nightmare should define it better. Where I kill Leo again. But it's not just Leo that's in there. Justin too. He meets the same fate as well. I slaughter him.

I wondered if I talked in my sleep when I had that dream. Did I call Justin's name?

It just came to my senses that I ask too much. I sympathize all these rhetorical questions that were destined to remain unanswered within the pages of my journals.