Nightmare.

I have a nightmare. A nightmare that will catch me when I'm awake -- especially when I'm awake -- robbing all my beautiful dreams, leaving only bad thoughts that will send me paralysed, easily. It will attack, like a disease, anytime, even during when I'm at the happiest -- which is a rarity, anyhow. It resides within my laughters and my tears. It seems to be never-ending, it seems stubborn, it seems to not wanting to go anywhere.

Should I be scared? I think I deserve to be scared. I think I should.

This nightmare attacks me most in the form of memories. Of course. Whatever that I have tried to forget, or succeeded in forgetting, it will revive. Whatever that I want to remember, it will wash away, in a manner of how water and soap wash away dirt. Not necessarily with a trace, but clean. Undesirably, the most unfathomable, the villainous of thoughts stick. And they spread.

Whenever this nightmare comes, it will send me chills. I will shiver. I have to shiver. It is the mechanism, this shivering: it'll jot away the pain, an attempt to return to sender, but always in vain. I have to sit down. Worse, I have to recline, lie down, and sleep. Often times, sleep is always the best remedy to this nightmare. The irony.

The subject on whether I really own this nightmare, or is it somebody else's, remains unanswerable.

I miss you.