I seem to be living almost entirely for my dreams lately; sleeping has become my favourite time of the day.

Dreams have always subconsciously affected me far more than they should. A few years ago I dreamt that I hugged a particular boy (for that is what he was at the time) and this hug was apparently so magnificent that for months I was convinced that he was the love of my life. Seriously.  Haha.

As much as I’d like to say that this sort of tomfoolery is exclusive only to my younger years, last night my dream has seemed to once again lured my sense into that darkened ally of nonsense.

In the aforementioned dream, a platonic friend of mine asked me to be his girlfriend and I seemed to be more than happy to accept his surprising offer. This is of course a standard type of dream that my head conjures up frequently. Except, what was most alarming to me was how gutted I was when I woke up; when I realised that it was just my subconscious playing weird and wonderful tricks on my mind.

And so it begins.

(Damn my short-lived freedom from infatuation!)

Dreaming-of-Daisies

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