Have you ever noticed how dreams feel… incomplete?
You wake up feeling like you just experienced something vivid—almost like a full story.
But within minutes, it starts slipping away.
What remains are only fragments, scattered and hard to hold onto.
I’ve always been someone who dreams a lot.
When I was younger, my dreams were often shaped by imagination.
I used to watch a lot of anime and superhero shows.
And like many kids, I couldn’t help but wonder—
what if I had those abilities too?
Nothing too extreme.
Being able to fly, or maybe teleport, would have been enough.
Especially teleportation.
Back then, my most practical wish was simple:
If I could appear in the classroom at the last second, I could sleep a little longer.
Flying, though, felt like something different.
In real life, “flying” always depends on machines.
But in my imagination, it should come naturally—from the body itself.
Maybe that’s why I sometimes have this kind of dream.
In those dreams, I feel like a different version of myself.
I’m standing somewhere unfamiliar, yet it somehow makes sense.
There’s a wide gap in front of me.
Without thinking too much, I jump.
And then—
I’m flying.
Not “like flying.”
Actually flying.
I can feel the ground moving away from me.
I can feel my body pushing forward through the air.
That feeling is incredibly real.
And strangely, very free.
But that’s also the strange part about dreams.
They can feel so real—
and yet disappear so completely.
I remember one specific experience.
One morning, after waking up, I wrote down a few fragments from my dream:
- I was being shot at while walking
- I dropped something
- I lost more than 1000
At that moment, those scenes were clear in my mind.
But later, when I looked back at those notes—
I remembered nothing.
No images.
No emotions.
Not even a sense of familiarity.
It felt like those memories had never existed.
That’s when I realized something.
Dreams are not simply “forgotten.”
They are… disconnected.
You know they were once there.
But you can no longer access them.
It feels like a part of your memory has been quietly erased.
Why I Started Writing My Dreams Down
Over time, I began to understand something.
We’re not really recording dreams.
We’re trying to resist forgetting.
Some dreams, if you don’t write them down, are gone forever.
Not just the details—but the fact that they even happened.
Writing them down doesn’t make them clearer.
But at least, it proves one thing:
They once existed.
If you’ve ever had that moment—
where a dream fades away just minutes after waking up—
maybe you can try writing down just a few words.
It doesn’t have to be complete.
Even a fragment is enough.
Because some things, once gone, never come back.