THIS ALMOST IS HAUNTING ME

Last night, I dreamt I was a butterfly. I wasn’t myself pretending or imagining .... I was the butterfly. Light. Free. Effortless. I moved through the sky with no purpose other than to exist. There was no weight, no thought, no memory, only movement and air.

Then I woke up.

And something shifted inside me. The dream didn’t fade like they usually do. It clung to me, tender and haunting, as if part of me was still up there, floating somewhere between the clouds and silence. I sat on the edge of my bed, feeling both too heavy and too empty. The contrast between the dream and the real world was sharp...too sharp.

In that dream, there was no pain. No overthinking. No pressure to explain who I am, what I want, or where I’m going. There was only the present moment, and I belonged to it completely. I didn’t feel lost. I didn’t feel judged. I just was.

But here in this waking world, everything feels louder. The weight of expectations. The pressure to keep moving, to be productive, to smile even when I feel like crumbling. The stillness I felt in the dream has been replaced by noise, by doubt, by the ache of simply being human.

And yet, I can't shake the feeling that the butterfly is still part of me. Not just in the dream, but deep in my spirit. A version of myself untouched by the world’s heaviness. A self that remembers how to fly.

Maybe that’s what dreams are,  not just escapes, but reminders. That there’s more to us than what we carry. That somewhere within the layers of our day-to-day lives, there’s a lighter, freer version of us waiting to be remembered.

So today, even as I walk through the weight of reality, I carry the memory of wings. I carry that stillness, that softness, that sky. I may not know what’s real and what’s not, but I do know that the feeling of flying changed something in me.

And maybe..., just maybe, that’s enough.