Waking up into the real dream

I lay in the grass with the pain of inner questions running through my mind, and my heart. And I wonder whether when we lie down for the imaginary  sleep, do we get to revisit the place once held our shape?
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Do we get to smell life the way we did that day? And feel the wind through the blades of grass, and stare into the eyes of a faithful friend who cannot speak, but it’s there for us?
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Is this what everyone else calls a ghost: us, reliving some of the moments  – when we felt so vulnerable and fragile, that we could have easily be melted by the rain – before sinking into oblivion, before waking up into another dream?
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What a terrible misunderstanding…
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