Sabata, dear Sabata. I have been longing to tell you about my dreams, but I don't want to scare you. I don't want to embarrass myself. I was never there. I don't know exactly what went on. Only my sick version, which I don't know if they are blown out of porportion or not enough. There are very few words to express my feelings. Which are terror. I wake up in cold sweats on good nights, love. I think I know why I been bothered so much by it as well.
Because I never told anyone about my dreams. Thats just what I think. They just sit there and fester and grow, like a virus. Duplicating themselves. Everynight was getting worse and worse. Until that night we told expressed ourselves even more to eachother. The night we started our journals. The dreams stopped for a whille. A few days later they came back. I never told you about my dreams, Sabata.
The untamed, scary mind. What an endless horizon our minds are.