It's unlikely to happen again

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Sometimes I write a diary. It happens maybe once every couple of years. When I feel the need to write something down. Here is an entry I wrote on Sunday May 17, 2015 at 10:05 AM. The writing's not polished, it's word for word.

"Dear Diary,

I just woke up from a dream I had. Whether I had it this morning or last night, I couldn't tell you. Although it only lasted for what felt like a short moment, it was the happiest and most hopeful I've felt in a long time. It felt real. More real than anything in my lived experience. The dream was simple. I was with my mom. We were both together sitting at a table working on something with our hands. And then I suddenly got up and said: "Mom, should we go to Europe?" She replied: "Yes, let's leave this Saturday." We both grinned to each other. And then I woke up. Opening my eyes for a few seconds and cried. So what if it's dreaming, so what if it's not real? It feels real. I want to stretch this short moment to last an infinity."


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It's all in my head anyways. I just wish I hadn't woken up.




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