The journal of lucidity
There was snow, and there was that boy. And there was the whole issue of me knowing I was dreaming within the dream. I didn't remember much else, but the half remembered dream stuck with me more than any other dreams that I had ever remembered. It troubles me, the half remembered dream is worse because I can't stand not knowing.
I've tried filling in the gaps with what must be one logical step to another, but dreams aren't logical and don't work the way you'd want them to. They make no sense, even when you remember all of what happened, which is rare. I have no chance of solving this mystery. So I'll try to put down everything that I do remember.
The snow was vivid, and I could feel the soft flakes falling on my skin. They melted as soon as they touched me, with a tingling coolness, the kind that came with acetone evaporating. It was a curious sensation, and I didn't realize the similarity until after I woke up. I'd never experienced snow for myself, having the sun all around the year. Funny what my brain could think up.
I remembered wearing a sundress and combat boots. Even with all the snow, it wasn't cold or I didn't feel any of it, however it is that dream logic works. I didn't remember how I realized that I wasn't dreaming, but I remembered the smell of fresh air after the rain. I couldn't recall what it was called.
"Petrichor," he said.
"Thank you," I'd said.
I didn't know what else we talked about, but I remembered his eyes. They were gray. Or blue. That was all I could say for sure. I couldn't even remember what his face looked like, or how tall he was, none of the physical descriptions. I could remember how I felt, and how his presence brought clarity around me. I didn't know who he was, but I was extremely glad for his presence in the dream.
I've thought about it obsessively throughout the day, and I can't keep it in much longer. So I'm writing it all down, so I can burn it and hope the symbolism makes the memory go away.