I am visited in those dreams by faces from long ago. I visit houses and places that only exist in memory and old photographs. My mind combines the two together.
Sometimes I am old, sometimes young. If I allow my mind to wander, if I do not use the full force of my lucid dreaming abilities, I will continue down those old paths - the same, yet different.
Nothing makes sense, and everything makes sense. It is the way of dreams. They find the longing in your heart, and magnify it.
I see myself on those hazy paths.
I could be strong, but I give into the failure.
I could be sure, but I give into the frazzle.
I could be safe, but I give into the fear.
When I can not stop myself from thinking it through any longer, when I have to analyze the moments through the haze, I see the longing.
It is there. Staring at me. As physically imposing as a mountain, and more real than the haze around me. The longing for more, less, different.
I could reach out my left hand and touch it. But I do not. I know one touch will give it power, and it will carry me off. Carry me beyond the safety of the haze and the surety of dreams I can control at will. The longing will draw me to places unknown, and I am not ready for that. Yet. Maybe ever.