All my dreams are about running from the bombs and seeing fires,
And sometimes I dream of my house being bombed and razed to the ground,
And I cry in the dream and wake up to cry again.
This wasn’t a poem. It was just a message in passing to a friend this morning. And yet, also, a poem.
Last night I had a dream about a cemetery where each headstone had a donation portal for the favorite charity/NGO of the deceased (or in some cases, a medical NGO related to their CoD). Instead of flowers, people swiped their cards.
I don't even know why my brain did this, but I kinda like it.
Last night I had a dream about a cemetery where each headstone had a donation portal for the favorite charity/NGO of the deceased (or in some cases, a medical NGO related to their CoD). Instead of flowers, people swiped their cards.
I don't even know why my brain did this, but I kinda like it.
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