Untethered

It was half past four on a Tuesday afternoon. The rays of the sun had slowly started to scatter a little wider. The wind was almost completely stagnant yet softly brushing my loosely tied hair. The weather had a sense of mundanity, clouds and the sun, playing hide and seek. Every atom around me was barely moving, causing my mind to go numb. I had to come up with ideas for the new show launch that is due in the next month. Although my room has two windows that bring in sizable amount of sunshine and fresh air, today it was like someone's got this plastic on my face, tightly held around the neck, and I am choking on the last bit of life left in me. But just then, my phone buzzed. It was my manager. In her too sweet to be good voice, she asked me an interesting question. What happens to the dreams that we do not remember? Where do they go? Huh! 

She was writing an interesting piece around some relevant topic. In the beginning, she asked me to answer in one line. I said, they don't go anywhere, they are just in our heads, messing with us, just like you. Yeah, in my mind, I wasn't kidding. I wanted to say that out loud, but because I am a lion in my own head doesn't mean I roar outside. So obviously, I made something up and replied. She later said that I could take some time and get back to her with a para or something. Enough about her though. But that got me thinking, I mean there's this whole volcano of things that I wish to yell out to the world, and every time I open my mouth, all that comes out is the smoke instead of the lava. It's like it's embedded in my system, since the moment I was conceived. No matter how many times I decide to push myself, I just cannot cross that lakshman rekha. 

I don't know how it comes to us because my parents are sure as hell the complete opposite of me. Even if the queen comes to our house and uses the tea cup without a coaster, my mum's going to lose it. Aren't the dreams that we do forget are exactly like our inner self, the conscious. Those dreams get suppressed deep down by the things that are going to come into calculation eventually. Those dreams are not the things that we wouldn't imagine in a lifetime. On the contrary, I think they signify our deepest, darkest, and truest desires, from which every one of us is running. We fear the warmth of it. What if I can't let go of its embrace, what if I emerge as an anti-perfect daughter of my parents, the borderline psychotic, cynical, egotistical person that my friends usually bitch about behind my back. 

I think the dreams we forget is the alternate reality that we all wish we were living into. All the what ifs, could have beens, if onlys, everything where our imagination runs wild, at the crux of it, lies the forever forgotten dreams. When I wanted to rip my friend's heart out, who looked me in the eye and lied straight even after offering many second chances. When I wanted to smack another of my friend's head into the wall when she chose her boyfriend over me. When I wanted to plunge a knife in my guts after being manipulated by a fuckboy and how I wanted to run my eyes dry after parting from the one person I ever loved, yet. But it's not all about the dark things; it's about all those things that came with a price and, it's about that every choice I made where I didn't choose myself.

After all, there is a reason for all the dreams we remember and a purpose for all the dreams that are forever forgotten.