It was strange—how could one exist inside a dream and not know? The sun shone too brightly, the air too still, and yet nothing seemed quite right. People moved with purpose, unaware that their steps left no marks in the dust. The sound of footsteps didn’t echo. The world felt solid, but when one looked close, the details vanished. There was a sense that all of it—people, trees, the ground—was simply a shadow. A memory made real, but only for now.
Footprints That Led Nowhere
In the distance, footprints appeared out of nowhere, clear and deep. But as soon as one approached, they stopped, as if they’d never existed at all. Curious wanderers tried to trace them, but the footprints always disappeared into thin air, replaced by a new pattern. No one could find the origin. Were they made by someone walking in their sleep? Or was this the way the dream moved, shifting its own narrative?
Dreams leave footprints that don’t fade—they wait for us to remember them.
The Memory of Where You Were Going
Sometimes, you could feel yourself walking without knowing where to go. The path ahead seemed familiar, yet distant. You were sure you had been there before, but when you tried to recall it, your memory betrayed you. There was something ahead—something you had forgotten but longed to find. Yet with every step, the future only expanded into more uncertainty, as if the dream itself kept changing direction.
