Such dreams.

.

.

Believe?  Who... needs belief.  Always.  Dreams are their own.

Why?  Do they come though, at times.  I don't know.  Rarer, these days.  Beautiful, in their terror.  If you have learned to accept, humbly, that which must be... with or without you?  You... can walk on, in, through.  With hope, faith, and charity.  I don't embrace horror, I just... understand it well enough to... walk beside it, through it, in it.  Even be the face of it, at times.

The power by which it presents?  Only in rare moments am I brought to tears.  Certain memories, faces.  None real, of course.  For I never was.  No One.  I simply wasn't there, didn't do those things, didn't see those things, or such.  Just dreams, or... as it is said.  I dream 23 men women and children were logged to my name.  More, probably many more, but... not all things can be accounted in war, let alone mere dreams of war.  And, not even I can be certain about the number.

As I dream, so I paint, with music, and even some art.  Go away.

I saw some, I accepted some.  But, too, some were given my tag by others who saw... in pairs or more.  Though, too, some I claims were not counted, for none witnessed.  In my dreams, it was ruled that several had to see.  Why the numbers?  I still don't quite understand.  Some... rule of war, for certain types.  Not... a... grace, nor disgrace?  Just... how things were done for reasons perhaps none may know.  It wasn't my number, just... a number.  Stat.  Like... blood type, height, weight, and so on.  Only a few years, not even two, of it.  But, as mentioned, dreams.

The dreams flooded this day.  Both while sleeping and, later, as I am awake.  And, music seemed to follow.  A few pops.  But, too, a few remembered.  No, these came after the dreams.  Otherwise I might have suspected they were a cause of the dreams, and daydreams.  Nope, a result.  Odd... how that happens.

Going home?  Be anonymous.  It's the only way, I think? 

The only hope.  That is how I see it.  Or... saw it.  I realized, through time, there is no going home.  If... maybe, there never was home?  Not... sure.  It's... just dreams, can't be certain about these things.  Innit?  There was never any good old days.

Now that none are here by my allowance, I can... write as I may.  Anyone who sees, isn't being allowed.  So... snooping, and you get what you get.  Shut it.