In my dream there is no when or where, only now. I can’t discern any orienting landmarks, save for the pier jutting out into nothingness. There is no sound, no birdsong, no lapping waves, not even the rush of blood coursing through my veins.
Light seems to come from every direction and none. It merely is. Time stands still, yet my mind races.
Standing alone on shore, contemplating whether to venture out onto the deck, I can’t distinguish between real and abstract. Am I the reflection or the person? Am I the dream or dreamer?
In my dream I consider that this is my reality, and my unconscious self is in limbo back in my bed, and that existence is the actual dream.
My truth is here in a featureless world, and my nightly visions are elaborate productions acted out in my sleeping mind. All my relationships, all the stories, all sets and backdrops, merely make-believe and I am the teller of tales.
Is this real, or is this fantasy?
Thin spiral notebook 
Is it weird I found this hauntingly beautiful? I think Stephen King would steal this from you.
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The scene was very dreamlike. I was almost afraid to walk out on the pier because it did look like it was reaching out into nothingness.
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How often do we wake from a dream so real, we believe it might have been a memory rather than fantasy? How often do we wish we could awaken from a nightmare that is life.
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I do wonder about that, and also whether people in comas are living a whole separate life in their minds… that’s a ‘nother story for another time.
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How completely awesome that the picture creates a scene directly from a dream. I’ve had that dream. It’s not a pier in mine, but it’s the ocean for sure, and there’s that swimmy feeling of uncertainty.
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The whole scene was surreal. The fog was burning off everywhere but the bay and the pier did look like it was floating into nothingness. Even when I walked out on the deck, I couldn’t see very far out over the water.
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