I didn't want to dirty another page in my notebook with pen so I forged ahead and wrote a blog instead.

I caught my last thought before I went to sleep and tried to let it go.

Then, I awoke this morning and there it was again, as if haunting me for an unforeseeable reason. So I shut my eyes and tried to go back to sleep, to escape, which happened pretty successfully; however, I remember during my slumber I shrieked, but I couldn't control it, I was having a nightmare of sorts; I can just vaguely pick out pieces that were familiar.

Of course, the thought was about "you," and no I'm not talking about you, "you" is more of an abstraction, unless the "you" I'm referring to is indeed reading this, then indeed the "you" really is you; but I would have no way of knowing if "you" will ever read this and will truly understand that it's about you, because honestly how many you's are there in this world? Without naming names.

"You" inspire me to write shitty poetry because there aren't enough moments to pull from, just flashes of scenes from a poorly written movie that nobody wants to see, all sewn together to create a mosaic of film strips lined alongside each other that with a flick of a switch can spark, burn to a crisp, and enable me to forget. I can't help but look to it for creative inspiration while it lasts.

Tonight, I'll go to bed again knowing what awaits, the thought. I'll try to shut off that part of my brain that conjures up demons so I may sleep in peace, but I know I can't; because all "you" have been to me is a dream, once vivid, slowly decaying, waiting for that fateful spark.