When things dont quite feel right.

When things are blurry and distorted.

When you know you're not dreaming but you aren't sure you ever woke up.

 

Things are in the wrong place, people look different, nothing is exactly where it should be.​

You move through the world as if underwater, each step slow and weightless, each breath a ripple. The light bends oddly here, too gold, too still, and nothing casts a proper shadow. Buildings curve where they should be straight, staircases loop gently into themselves, and the sky hangs low like painted silk, stitched at the edges with something too distant to name but you don't have time to observe it closely.

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There’s a quiet murmur beneath everything, not quite sound, not quite silence. People drift past with eyes that shine like mirrors. You think you know them, by shape, by presence, but their smiles don’t fit their faces, and their words arrive before their mouths move. Still, no one seems surprised. Not even you.

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A window shows a street you’ve never seen, though you remember it well. A door opens to the room you left yesterday, but the furniture has forgotten where it belongs. Time loops like thread in a dreamer’s hand: soft, unwinding, refusing to hold its place.

You keep telling yourself you’re awake, but the thought feels too heavy, like it doesn’t belong here. You remember waking, don’t you? Or maybe you only remember remembering. It’s hard to say. The dream has curled itself around your ankles, quiet and warm, and the more you walk, the less you’re sure the waking world was ever real to begin with.
This is what its like when you are asleep

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