Conclusion of the Story Book of Nightmare Blog Series: Undeniable Truth

We’ve Reached the End… Or Have We?

Closing the Chapter on “Undeniable Truth: As Far As the Story Began, Dreams Exist”

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“The dream wasn’t a dream. It was the beginning.”

We’ve wandered through shadowed corridors, listened to mirrors whisper secrets, and followed Elora as she stumbled deeper into the world she tried to forget — a world stitched together with memory, truth, and dream.

And now, the final page has turned.

Undeniable Truth: As Far As the Story Began, Dreams Exist was more than just a story.
It was a descent — into forgotten timelines, fractured identities, and the strange comfort of nightmares that feel too real to dismiss.

Through five eerie chapters, we:

• Stepped into breathing hallways and saw paintings come to life.

• Entered a garden where flowers had teeth and journals remembered too much.

• Faced distorted reflections in a church where faith was replaced by memory.

• Sat in a classroom where time broke, and forgotten lessons bled through.

• And stood before a truth we buried — but which never stopped growing.

Elora’s journey was personal and surreal — not just a dreamer, but a girl who became the very dream she feared.

And while this story is done…

The book is still open.
The roots still pulse beneath the tree.
And somewhere in the distance,
a mirror is waiting for you to look too long.

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💬 What’s Next?

More nightmares.
More fragments of twisted stories from the edges of sleep and memory.
More truths wrapped in dream logic, waiting to be uncovered — or unleashed.

Thank you for walking with me through this one.
Stay curious. Stay uneasy.
And remember: not every dream lets you wake up.

— Ivy

Chapter 5: The Undeniable Truth

  “Undeniable Truth: As Far As the Story Began, Dreams Exist”

a blog series for A Storybook of Nightmares

“The deepest truths are the ones you never meant to remember.”

Chapter 5: 

The Undeniable Truth

The door didn’t open.

It dissolved.

Like ink in water, like the moment before waking — not gone, but changed.

Elora stepped through.

And found herself back in her bedroom.

But something was off.
No color. No sound.
Everything was grayscale, dimmed and flickering like a dying film reel.

She moved, but the air was thick — not with fog, but with memory.
It clung to her skin.
Each breath tasted like ash and lavender.

On the mirror above her dresser, the phrase had returned.

“You shouldn’t have remembered.”

But it was different this time.
A new line appeared beneath it:

“Now you have to choose.”

Her reflection blinked.
Elora hadn’t.

It smiled.
Not cruelly. Not kindly.
Just knowingly.

“You brought us back,” it said, voice made of echoes.

“I don’t understand.”

“Yes,” the reflection replied. “You do. You always did.”

The bedroom rippled like water — peeling back its walls, pulling away the illusion.

Now she stood in a wide, empty space.

Black sky.
Endless ground.
And in the distance — a tree made of bones.

Beneath it: the journal from the garden.

Pages open. Turning. Bleeding.

The stitched-mouth version of herself was waiting there.
Sitting. Calm.
Like she had all the time in the world.

Elora approached, hands trembling.

“Why do you look like me?” she asked.

The stitched-mouth girl tilted her head.

“I’m the part of you that kept it all locked away. But you unstitched me, Elora. With every step, you brought me closer.”

Closer to what?”

The girl pointed at the journal.

“To the truth.”

The journal’s final page turned.

A single sentence, written in a child’s hand:

“It wasn’t a dream. You made the world forget. You were never supposed to wake up.”

The stitched-mouth girl stood.

Smiling now. The stitches fading.

“You didn’t dream your way here, Elora. You remembered your way back.”

The sky cracked — as if the stars themselves were splitting open.

The earth trembled.

And Elora realized the final truth:

She was never dreaming.
This was where she came from.
The dreamworld wasn’t pulling her in.
It was welcoming her home.

Chapter 4: Where the Clock Froze

 “Undeniable Truth: As Far As the Story Began, Dreams Exist”

a blog series for A Storybook of Nightmares

“Time doesn’t pass the same in dreams. It waits. It watches. And sometimes, it rewinds.”

Chapter 4: 

Where the Clock Froze

Elora opened her eyes to a ticking sound.

Not loud. Not fast.

But everywhere.

Hundreds — maybe thousands — of clocks lined the walls of a narrow corridor.

Pocket watches dangled from invisible threads.

Grandfather clocks stood tall with glass faces fogged from within.

Wristwatches lay open like dissected organs, gears still spinning.

But none of them told the right time.

Some ran backward.

Some blinked between numbers that didn’t exist.

And one — just one — was frozen at 3:17, the minute her father died in the real world.

The corridor curved again.

Not a hallway now — a classroom.

Desks stacked impossibly high, reaching the ceiling.

Books spilled across the cracked tile floor, all open, all unfinished.

She picked one up.

Its title: The Book of Not-Yet

Pages filled with text that shimmered, then vanished as she tried to read.

One line remained:

“Everything you remember was written. But not by you.”

A chalkboard appeared, covered in looping handwriting.

Elora. Elora. Elora. Elora.

Over and over.

As if someone had tried to erase her — but couldn’t.

A voice came from the desk behind her.

“You’re early,” it said.

“You weren’t supposed to return until the bell rang.”

She turned.

A boy sat there.

No older than ten.

Face pale. Eyes hollow.

He wore a suit two sizes too big and bled black ink from his fingers.

“Elira,” he said again, without moving his lips.

“I marked your absence. But you always come back, don’t you?”

“Who are you?” she asked.

The boy smiled.

“All your forgotten lessons.”

Then tilted his head sharply.

“But I didn’t come alone.”

Behind her, the clocks began to chime in unison.

Violent. Off-key. Deafening.

They cracked. Shattered.

Gears flew through the air like shrapnel.

The chalkboard exploded with movement — words crawling like insects, spelling one final phrase:

“The truth was late. Now it must be punished.”

A door appeared at the front of the classroom.

Open. Pitch black.

The boy was gone.

And the desks were now filled — with waxy figures that looked like people she once knew.

Teachers. Family. Herself at six years old, chewing her hair.

They all turned their heads in unison.

They all pointed at the door.

And as Elora walked toward it, the clocks fell silent.

She didn’t open the door.

Because it already knew she was coming.

Chapter 3: The Church of Mirrors

 “Undeniable Truth: As Far As the Story Began, Dreams Exist”

a blog series for A Storybook of Nightmare

“Some places don’t echo your voice — they echo your soul.”

Chapter 3: 

THE CHURCH OF MIRRORS

The rain started before Elora opened her eyes. It wasn't falling on her - not yet - but she could hear it.

Dripping steadily onto stone. Each drop felt like a countdown. 

She stood inside a cathedral without windows. No stained glass. No altar. 

Just mirrors - tall, old, and cracked - leaning against every wall and pillar. Some tilted toward her. Others away, like they were trying to avoid her gaze.

Candles flickered from nowhere, their flames casting light but no warmth.

She walked forward. 

The echoes of her bare feet sounded wrong - too loud, too late, like they followed instead of preceded her step.

Then she saw it.

The first mirror.

And herself - only not quite.

Her reflection wore a dress she didn't own.

Her hair was longer. Her eyes, too wide.

The reflection smiled, but her mount didn't move.

Then it whispered:

“You lied.”

She stepped away, breath hitching.

The next mirror - she looked younger.

Nine years old. Holding a stuffed animal she lost in a fire. This one wept.

Blood leaked from its eyes and soaked the floor within t he glass. Another mirror. She was laughing.

Surrounded by people she didn't know. One of them had no face. She turned in a panic - every mirror now watching her.

Breathing.

Whispering.

"Elora..." they chorused in unison.

Her name twisted though the chamber like a spell unraveling.

She ran.

But the church curved - spiraling deeper inward like the inside of a conch shell. The further she ran, the darker the mirrors became.

Now they didn't show her at all. They showed... someone else.

A version of her with black eyes and stitched mouth. One mirror cracked as she passed, and something slithered out. She screamed - but no sound left her lips.

At the final chamber, a single full-length mirror stood upright.

In it: her current self. 

Breathing. Frightened.

But she wasn't alone.

Behind her, the stitched mouth version appeared.

Closer.

Closer. 

Then, She turned around. No one was there. But the mirror had changed. Now it reflected nothing at all.

Just a phrase, written in reverse:

“The truth won’t hide if you keep chasing it.”

The bells rang. A sound so low it shook her bones. And Elora woke up. Hands pressed against her bedroom mirror. Mouth open. Eyes wide.

Behind her- Her own reflection smiled...

Just a second too late.

Chapter 2: The Garden of Teeth

“Undeniable Truth: As Far As the Story Began, Dreams Exist”

a blog series for A Storybook of Nightmare

“Some gardens don’t grow flowers. They grow what you bury.”

Chapter 2: 

THE GARDEN TEETH

Elora didn’t remember falling asleep.

But the wind against her face wasn’t from a fan. It was colder than anything in her room. It carried the scent of iron, ash, and something floral — like roses that had grown in the dark too long.

She stood barefoot again, this time in dirt.

A garden stretched before her.

Not neat rows. Not cultivated.

Wild. Untamed.

And wrong.

The soil pulsed, faintly glowing under a silver fog.

Petals bloomed from thick, dark vines that slithered instead of stood.

Each flower — if you could call them that — had no center.

Just rows of tiny, ivory teeth where a stamen should be.

Some chattered. Some hummed.

One snapped shut as she passed, spitting something black into the dirt.

“Elora,” a voice whispered again — this time from the garden itself.

She followed it.

Her hands brushed aside vines that recoiled from her touch.

Each step felt heavy, like the ground was remembering her footsteps.

At the center of the garden stood a stone table.

Covered in moss and something reddish.

And on it —

A leather-bound journal.

It had no title.

But she knew it was hers.

Not because she remembered writing in it.

But because the inside cover had her name carved over and over, bleeding into the paper like old wounds reopening.

She flipped to the first page.

“The story begins here. Don’t forget the way out. If you write the wrong ending, he will find you.”

The handwriting shifted between her own and something not quite human.

Page after page filled itself as she read.

One sentence stood out, scrawled over and over:

“You buried the truth here. But it still has teeth.”

Suddenly the vines tightened around her ankles.

The flowers screamed.

Elora tried to move, but the garden gripped her.

Behind her, footsteps.

Slow. Heavy.

Not human.

She turned —

And saw herself.

But not herself.

Eyes black.

Smile too wide.

Hands stained with ink.

The figure whispered:

“You shouldn’t have remembered.”

Then the journal slammed shut on its own.

The garden vanished.

And Elora woke up with dirt under her fingernails.

And a pressed petal on her pillow — soft, purple… with a single baby tooth curled in the center.

Undeniable Truth: As Far As the Story Began, Dreams Exist

“Undeniable Truth: As Far As the Story Began, Dreams Exist”

a blog series for A Storybook of Nightmare

“Dreams aren’t always kind. Some leave pieces behind when you wake up.”

CHAPTER 1

THE FIRST RETURN

Elora didn’t fall asleep. She disappeared.

One blink — and the world she knew, the bed she laid on, the nightlight humming softly in the corner — all vanished like fog in wind.

When her eyes opened again, she was standing barefoot in a hallway she had never seen before, and yet somehow… remembered.

The floor creaked, not from her weight, but like it was breathing.

The wallpaper peeled upward, curling like burned pages.

Down the hall, a flickering lightbulb swung back and forth, casting long, twitching shadows that didn’t match the rhythm of her movements.

“Elora,” a voice whispered.

Not loud. Not far.

Just… behind her ear.

She turned fast — nothing.

But the air smelled like something old and wet.

Like forgotten toys under floorboards. Like photographs buried in damp soil.

The doors on either side of the hall weren’t doors at all.

They had no knobs. No hinges.

Just smooth slabs of wood with keyholes shaped like teeth.

She didn’t try to open them.

She already knew they wouldn’t open — not yet.

As she moved forward, the floor stretched beneath her feet.

The hallway grew longer, curving slightly like the spine of something ancient.

Paintings lined the wall now. Dozens of them.

Each one was of her — but not how she looked now.

One was her as a child, standing beside a lake that didn’t exist.

Another was her, smiling with her eyes closed, while a figure loomed behind her in the fog.

And one… one showed her asleep, in her real bedroom, right now.

She stepped closer.

In the painting, her chest rose and fell in peaceful rhythm.

Her fingers were still curled in the way she always slept.

But something was wrong.

The Elora in the painting opened her eyes.

And stared back at her.

Her mouth moved — slowly — deliberately.

“Don’t forget.”

The hallway shuddered.

A wind, ice-cold and sour, blew out the flickering bulb.

And then darkness fell like a curtain.

When Elora woke up in her bed, her fingers were curled.

Her nightlight was off.

And muddy footprints led from the window to where she slept.

She was awake.

She was sure of it.

But the dream was just beginning.

A Story To Begin With

In my dreams and what I've always heard from reality life doesn't end in death. God knows, God guides, to have my will to choose what road I should walked in, falls in my decision. We have freedom, but His ways are greater mine. I talked to my discipler, she’s the wife of our pastor. I agreed to what she said, we can never feel any satisfaction or contentment in our entire life and never did even reach the peek of it (unless we're dead); that's what I felt every day and every moment. And for me life seems to be always at its end after a very long day. The hours of my sleep is like my own death there is my heaven and there is my hell "The World". We, somehow always feel the needs of more. I must say she's terribly right. I consider myself as uncontent person that I have the eagerness to do or have more. Am I against to myself? I’ve been facing many obstacles for the past few years, struggles in life to know at the point of it hey! I'm alive and still trying to be alive. That is the events I encountered in this life, my own physical & emotional survival then my spiritual survival. At any rate I shouldn't give up there some instances the three clashed and I can feel it, and then the decision I will make. The twinge is exaggerating yet overwhelming at the end.

Whenever I sit or lie down in my bed with the book in my hand and a song played at the stereo that makes an eerie feeling, I moved in it that routine or just watch a movie to kill time. There is always a sudden flash back about my life especially during the time when I was young. Well I already accept the fact that it is done and that I’ve already moved on, still I’m going to share it anyway. I’ve got lot to tell but I don’t know if I’m going to open everything up so I’ll say it in a different way.

Little by little I shared my tragedy on those people I know that I can trust with. My younger years are the most darkest events of my life. Well there’s another one but I’ll stick up to the other one and I'm telling it right now. That is my elegy and misery. I am born normal but I got sick and almost die when I was four. Thank God I’m still alive and writing this. I grow up normal, happy, playful, always painting a smile, making lots of friends, learning, opening my eyes to the world. I still remember how I enjoyed my childhood years together with my family and neighborhood-family like. I felt cared and loved by people surrounds me. Everyday they cuddle me and play with me, dolls, street games, a lot, but there's always some thing that will hurt me and break me. Like everyone says storm is always on its way. I thought I’m just illusive in these things but this terrible event really happened to me and every moment of my life I am ashamed of it, I hate it, I have that anger in my heart, because of it. A dark room was created; I build my comfort zone and hide in it, trying to be normal that nothing happened and I never cared at all, because I’m afraid, in my most inner self I am scared when things such hard to explain, tears just flow, like two trucks crashed within me. Every moment I hope for death to come. WORST and painful. I grew up with that wound.

It started to haunt me when I was in my elementary years. I felt an entire world jump on me. For years I thought it was just a dream, a nightmare, but I’m wrong. I seem to make my own different world within me, a big lie who I’m not just to be saved. Crazy it seems, but its true. And it began to break down and I can no longer continue with the lies and running. I'm helpless, depress, sad, and lost. But I continue to live, I’ve burst out and get angry with God and I let Him hear my cries. I met a friend, through her, I realize that even in the darkness someone will drag you out, then you’ll notice you're walking in the light. I am truly saved. However, it didn’t end. My nightmares, my dark past continue to hunt me till I enter college and it is worser than before. I admit I'm a bad influence and been intimidated by the world that I even used as my excuse. Much more sufferings I encounter. I forgot the brighter side, even I grief upon the name of the Lord, I thought that moment He turned away. The worst nightmare ever! How will I find the exit if in my self I’m already hindering to find it? I seek, and still believe. I chase, try to find the answer I know it was there. It takes me a lot of time to be shaken up. One by one the answer pop out of my head. I conquered my fear and try to share it with my discipler. I can see to her face that she was shocked about what I’ve been through, she share with me some things for me to cope with those events in my life. I tried to release it. But the fight is still on the process.

While I was doing this I think I just only make it in here on the age of 20 to realize that there is a big world out there and I need to discover more. I wonder what will happen next? I just need to keep moving to know. This is my story.

Dreams of Dreams

Do the lesser we think, do we started to be stupid? Or just drawn out and run from it? For me it depends, I’ve been on some situation and did different kind of things to surpass it. I didn’t get the chance to run away or hide. All I always do is go straight ahead without even thinking. So, these dreams either become my reality to go through and to be questioned the fact, an obstacle, a test paper, a pop quiz of my life, WHATEVER! Grinding my head for questions with no answers, so much for my nightmares. There is this song called Violet Skies sang by In this Moment. I want to emphasize the lines they created base in dreams to become it's realities.

Dulling from within to find a reason for it all
Lost for years
In the storm
Waiting for the rain to stop me from washing me away
I held on tight
Awaiting night

And I lay me down to sleep
And find a world where I was free

Imagine a place
Where dreams lead the way
And all of your colors fade the grey
Imagine the dream
Now close both your eyes
Fall into the violet skies

Deep inside your eyes it shows
You've been lost for too long
Out of touch
On the edge
I promise you will find a way
I found a pathway home
I'll carry you
You're not alone

Dreams that gives way, imagining things not to be lost and not to be alone. Creating a world that perfect and running away from reality is great, yet sad.

Wishful thinking that I am not here, confession of my deepest darkest secret. To be able to open in the public (front page!) what lies beneath me. A way to make my own wall that this is me. No! I want to sleep. Closing my eyes seeing darkness that impossible to erase everything. But, I never loose hope because I can face a brand new day again just like I always do when settling things in my life after a great tragedy. But according to the song imagine that leads a way. So I imagine a place where I can be free or a place where it can lead somewhere peace and no more agony that my heart drowning in too much. I’ve dreamed of my own world, a perfect world where in I create my greates escape, my feelings between the lines. I believe in that world of my own were serene conquers and tranquility spread through out in everything. It's just me and my dream world. A green grass covers the earth, field of flowers that dance in the wind, cold yet warm breeze; warm within my heart, beautiful sun and sky, tall and big trees; the sound of a river, sounds like a dream to me. A world I created for me to run.

Humans are the World's Strangest Creatures

There are indefinite things in this world that remain unexplained. No matter how wierd it is, mankind will always observe it. It will be always be so with mankind. It is the imagination and the past. Person, Mankind, People. People are world's strangest creatures. Sometimes I don't understand the way they feel in human, in things, in natures. For me it becomes random and uncertain.

I, you, them, people, person, EVERYONE! You don't belond only to yourself; there isn't anything in this world that belongs to only yourself. Everyone has connections to someone else and shared something with them through these; that is why you can never be free that is also why it is amusing, sad and dear. Giving up, saving others not for your own sake, but for others; how fascinating in sight. Is that a selfish in act? You, an important part of their life gets hurt just for their sake, just to make them feel better; but never some to realize that you hurt them by doing so throwing your own well-being out just like that. Do you think something you can throw out easily can be exchanged for something important? Even someone trying to give their best for you, trying their very hard, yet we just trhow that without a second thought. In other words the person that protect us from something you treat as trash like yourself for their sake, so you wouldn't care just make sure they're allright even you are harmed. People who think of you dearly; without even understanding that, you don't give any value to yourself. You dislike others being hurt, yet you allow yourself to be wounded; without even knowing how much it may hurt someone elese who cares for you, which is your proposition. Dreams, I dreamed more of it, somehow it's painful to watch, to see, to feel, and to realize how the world works upon living. It occurs to me that things will never work out not unless there is something for exchange.

Prophetic dreams, a dream that becomes reality, or more accurately, a dream that sees what is going to occur. Most people can buy dreams that is for good luck, I never thought of that. People who pay for nightmares are few and far between. If there are people who wish for tranquility it becomes a farewell present to the people who never breathe again.

Do you believe in destiny? Destiny refers to an event that would definitely happen. Without it nothing is impossible. From one thing, you see many other things can be imagined. Nothing in this world happened by random. For everything you desire, you have to pay an equal price in return. You can't get more nor give more... It can't be more or less. Must be in balance, or else there'll be mishaps. Whether it is a meeting by chance or a major event, every occurence will affect the future, because man's path of life is not only unstoppable but also never ending. The smalled thing, the shortest amount of time, the littliest piece of record or memory; the face that accompanies it will never disappear.

Me as someone that should not be here. Me someone should not be in people's lives. it's painful for me right now, it hurts even more inside.

What more is there be if everything is inevitable? There is meaning and purposes in everything that happens. However, is all too rare for anyone to understand the entire meaning. To find meaning in each of the unaccountable events happening everyday to every person it vexes the mind by considering it. However, even realizing that single event may have meaning in itself that alone has significance. I believe asking one self why has it's own meaning once you realize that all there circumstances leads you down a path, that knowledge sticks with you and you're unable to turn back. The next step is wherever you choose have that will to survive.

Allusions never indicates similarity nor do they indicate dissimilarity. Projecting your own emotion onto others is so very easy to do and so easy to sway. Mending there own emoting both by sympathy and empathy are higly dangerous. One might be dependent and hate others that do not do the same treatment. That's something most treasures can't even accomplish these days. Malice far more rousing that gentleness, human always define inreachable things like evil or words unseen yet spoken. As long as we that's enough. Coincident is but an illusion in this world. There is inevitability in everything. How about chances? A strange feeling...

The Feeling Is Just Absurd

I've fought with my own feelings. Fighting in the battle I don't even know if I'm going to win. The danger were I put myself into is to accomplish the dream to have someone who will protect me, love me and understand me; a person who will never let me go, living under his loving, warm arms, wiping the tears I'm shedding, mending my heart every time he bid a smile. That is my inherent to keep for my own sake. When I realize that I'm bringing the fool out of myself since the beginning, I felt the awkwardness of my selfish acts. I blame no one and I don't know if I have the right to say it's my fault. Not that I only want to loose it, but I also want everything about the feelings to vanish.

I've had enough with rejection, the sleepless night that haunts me; the feeling isn't just not normal even though it is the most wonderful thing in this world, but for me it cause only harmful feelings in my veins. I admit I become blind were in my thoughts it will change soon. I'm just helping myself to make the hurt go away, for me to feel better; the feeling is running away. But in reality it didn't, so I fell into a trap, stuck now to the feelings I thought it was real. Now, I'm the one who's in pain.

Am I relying on that? Or is just that I have that feeling of fear? Fear always taunting me. Why am I being like this? "I give up!" As far as I remember that's what I said to myself, to my heart, to my mind whenever I look at the mirror.

I never put period on it instead I choose, choose between the dream and the reality to make that dream real, choose between that someone or to never, I've got to choose choose choose!!! Since I'm standing now in the real world this is my chance to explore that world; the world I want to see, places I want to go and the adventure I want to reach out. I can't say I'm alone, there will always be friends around to knock with. I have to leave the feelings, leave what I have always left behind again and face countless opportunities in the future. So this is my hope, I might lost the battle, but I learn to stand knowing this is not my battle. Surrendering doesn't mean I'm weak is just the way of telling myself this is not my victory. There's always more battles ahead, prepare the armor and earheads in position.

This time I shouldn't let my guard down. I've become a coward and just stick to my comfort zone, AFRAID. Not anymore, when there's no way out, look up. Dreams, I am awake.

The Broad Side World

As I follow the journey of my reality in dream I've learned it can turn into what we called nightmares. From the reference of other human being and the way they live their lives. Me? I witness it all. Astonishing in my prospect. I, myself is a product of unfortunate living, born as a sinner and imperfect in every way. I am not rich or poor, I can't stand on my own feet but I shoud change the thought I can someday. That's the idealism and the fact; for me there's someone holding me to make sure I end up okay. But I wonder, when the actress said in this movie, "what will be my life in the near future? I want that life wearing a medal of achievement, a family and more... something I can gaze upon with the life I have right now from here to there.." That's not exactly what she said, but in the moment it caught me thinking maybe that is also what I want. I dreamed of a good life, but we all know disappointments are in the door. Expectations hurt, many of us say it and most us advice it. They say "don't expect too much!" am I hearing myself on this.

I am happy at the same time I'm not. It seems that the world where I'm standing and the world I'm always looking forward to see is inseperable. I made, I create, I chose within thousands of choices; decisions that leads to destruction. God knows that. I'm trying to live this life at its best, trying to cope up with changes and as much as possible learn to understand, learn to grow. Maturity, I'm always on the process and trying to progress. Immaturity in everything is my downfall. My mind is filled by thousands of questions, which sometimes fooled me a lot. During my quiet time I asked those questions to God in terms of How? When? Where? and Why? And if God is in my position what He will do? Or if other people are in my shoe what will they do?

I dreamed of I'm stuck in this large crowd and suddenly seeing myself lost in it, already trapped and can't get thru. I tried to say excuse, but no one hear me. As long as I stay there I can't leave. However, in the eyes of God I am not. I am running towards the exit and someone or something blocked along the way I gaze at the exit that seems moving far. I tried to reach it but it's too late. I hate nightmares that what I thought about a lot. That is the reason I also struggle to this life. I read a lot of books and heard a lot of stories, mottos, phrases, opinions, and comments in all my surrounding and resources. About what I think of other people because I'm affected and I have emotion. I'm not a rock or have a hardened heart in fact I'm weak when it comes to emotion. I can feel that's the problem.

There's this dream that I can feel so much in it, so much for real. I can hear people talk and laugh. And there's this dream where kids play and then one of them stumble and cried. Things turn out different in a flash I'm standing in a blissful meadow and I watch as trees dances with the wind. It was such a nice dream, a paradise.

I browse some stories that people wrote and made, I've learned that the people drives the world under the control of God everything falls into places or in line, according to "plan". The brain can't even answer most of our question like "what is the purpose of life?" The brain has its limit. It will provide information, yes! We search for facts and proofs. But for me I only get migraines when I think so much. Everything has its own limited functions and so that goes with the brain, with us. Example our heart the brain makes the heart beats. So when I quiet down myself my brain started to think, vision out, meditate on what I want to see, undergo what I want to feel, and then start to work to make it happen. Because of those hard thinking I wake up in realiy, I am fed up with my past, I can't bear and just fell asleep.

I am weak and stumble easily I can't say that all things happened to me is just a dream and thats it. When I realize some things in me good or bad I try to fix it to become better and not a burden. People die and leave you alone. I die, but I don't want to die empty inside. Living with a purpose is something all of us can achieve. Dreams can be a goal and nightmares can be a lesson. There will always be One who will never leave us nor forsake us. I maybe lost in the track but He said all the ways always leads to new one. Continuing my journey will lead me to greater things, I look forward and move forward.


note: I cut a lot of lines..

My Own Point Of View

There are things that aren't meant to be together, things that aren't fated for you to have. The life that we holding on might not work at all times. These are my dreams I keep, dreams I tried to remake. We don't even know the direction of our own path unless we are guided by someone or something like a map or a compass. People say it's destiny in every way you look at it. What I thought it is stupid! We can't control time, not exactly. I remember an anime movie it catches me a short phrase "Time waits for no one," I wonder. Its like a punch on the face (Bull's Eyes!). I never delibaretly give it an attention when it comes to time, valuing it, to the word time is gold, or time flies so fast till a friend shared me that movie. First, let me acknowledge the Director of that movie truly it was a good one, the plot of the story is amazing. I admire the creativity of it, the people behind it. Especially the sincerity of the frienship that flows in the movie.

The starting point of our life from the past, that continues till it forms present, and now every person's future lies in the changes of things we do both in the past and present to form the line of the future. But undoubtedly we don't possess the ability to predict the future; reality we can't because we base it on the present situation. You can't just put period on it and predicting is different from planning and even setting goals. I know it's in the hand of the one Who truly knows. Imagine a man standing in an intersection and in that person's head is a big question mark. The picture you form is a man who's lost, trying to think which path to choose. He doesn't know where to go that's the simple interpretation of it. So the image I want to say is that we start predicting when we fall in difficult situation, we PANIC. Then we say follies and stuff "now what?, "where will I go?" or "which way?" "blah, blah, blah, etc, etc." In my life I've been like that, always predicting then complaining and still I ask for directions. In that part, do I have to do that or just follow my instincts? If that so I can lead myself to a dead end and its doom to failure. I'm starting to a wrong point, my own selfish acts. So if that person enters into one of those path every one knows or no one knows what will be the end? Many times I've been there in the intersection of life, I can choose any path its the matter now of endurance and courage to step and continue till I reach the end; we need more than courage and endurance LIFE what more to take and to sacrifice? For me, I believe that I'll end up to the arms I'm always looking up for, because I know He is waiting in the end of every road two things: faith and trust. It will conquers the heart and mind that even in the darkest place He will never left you wondering through it.

I've been thinking about the things I did before, dreams I saw, things I regret and lost. It's my choice, my decision, and my great fall. With the people I've been with, share part of my life. As a result of my doings either I lost them or the changes can make them stay. In reality I'm wrong, no one can stay for a long time, they might vanished without a trace only memories I have with them stays. I try to understand and this mind can't hold of it, so many questions and I struggle that I am bound into it. I want to be set free in this horrible pace of life that disappoints me. According to some people I've talked to about this is that I want to have something that will trigger my life into an open and wider place. For me I want to start in the beginning; I want to find myself in this rejected part of me. I need a miracle. I heard some song that asking, "For now is it worth it to be sad? if its harder to be glad to be alive?" I wonder even more if this life I have now is something I can hold on more and longer. I felt I'm dying inside every time I stay alive. I made some troubles and I break a lot in this life. Wondering if I can fix it in my own bear hands. My senses are complete, but I felt the anxiety in every inch, I get lonely as I could feel the living.

I felt something, I wake up in the morning I gaze at the four corners of my room, plushies everywhere staring back at me giving those sweet looks. Tried to move on the other side reaching the curtains to see the blue sky if it is still there; being blinded by the smile of the sunlight. I am awake again in the reality, knowing I'm just dreaming again.

Nightmare's Awakening

She got the chance to fell in that deep slumber again. She waited long anough to be in such peace. Before, she almost drowned in things she's afraid when sleeping and sometimes its too late for her to survive or even wake up. Time that waits for no one; she sit there in that cold, dark room praying for her dreams, dreams she believed in. Somehow, fate insist to reveal her nightmares that gauge her out of reality. Hope, where is it? I wonder she fight in that place where fears and sorrows, pain and rejection, sadness and agony lingers in every corner. Slithering to get inside her. Eyes are blind, ears are deft, mouth can't speak. For me she's just a distort identity, a nothing, a no one.



Brawling to get out of that other side. However, terrified to fight how will peace going to conquer if she's afraid, afraid to stand. How will this end if fear conquers her. Poor thing and its petty to think. Such serene of mind, I do this in a conflict way. Observing, I thought if I do this, the side of me that I called her will be different somehow. I gaze at her in the mirror trying to find something to encourage her to do an entourage of this story, she's in there and I'm here. Different story same person. I realized that she is my nightmare; her face so peacefully staring at me. The pain hidden from her is just beneath those pillows, swarming, reaching for her. Looking upon the face that I recognize, she is full of scars. Face flooded with tears and every inch of her arms are bitten, with scratches and wounds. I felt bad about her, I know her, she is someone I am aware of long before. And suddenly I realize the person I'm seeing is my very own nightmare, she is my nightmare. I thought she's gone, I thought everything about her is gone, I didn't realize that she's with me again on my slumber. Gazing at the world different from the one I know, everything is in distress somehow I want to understand; I can see the struggles of her soul that lives inside her destructive body. Such petty and arrogance. The person I want to forget is here with me again.

To continue along, she must set aside the fear and be tough. Only faith she hold is her hope and strength. A weapon to face the war beyong the reality. When time comes she wokes up from that deep slumber greater battles is ahead, approaching her. For real war is at hand, holding both worlds. "Don't weep now, my child..."

What her nightmares? What are the realities she dreamed of? When everything ends, is it wonderful to watch the blue sky destroyed? Or watch the stars crash with her? If that happens, the things I'm afraid of become a reality do I still have a choice? That's probably death for me and before that I'll sing a lullaby, smell the breeze of the cool air and if there's still morning I still want to hear bird chirping like a normal days. Then turn around seeing those people who put smile on my face and spend it the time like I'll never have it again. There's another life beyond death I think. The person I know dreamed these things and in her deep sleep, I used to watch or look upon her, the things cover her both good and evil. I can't blame her if she's been through a lot. My fault to forget what I've been before. Gazing again back to her I am still questioned by her. Do I have to forget her? or say I will never again forget her. I just hope she will find a way out with the faith she believes that will save her.

I Have Something to Say

An emptiness I felt in my heart filled with unseen scenery. Reflecting of what will be my future is at stake. Some journeys are over, some adventures are close to an end, but not now I said. This is just the beginning, but why everyone’s leaving? The show is not over yet, for the main event waits. I’ve been held in this lifeless gulf with my sense of being a prisoner for so long. In beliefs, while my eyes shut I can hear oceans sing like a raging thunder, trying to break the silence of my unmerciful mind. I wonder if that thing I thought of is trying to break free trying to reach me. I wonder…

There’s this place I love to hangout with. I create my song, sleep, even read books. The guitar is with me, the pen and the paper is with me. I love music so much it sends tranquility through my soul and every time I hum a song along such wonderful melody I assumed, I can hear it, the song of everything. I can feel it, as the wind wafts it touches my skin that the music of its own slowly lullabies me. I can hear such wonderful harmony in my ears singing, I am a creation, a part of the amazing world, a part of great, unseen things. I write what I imagined even if it’s hard to put the right words I tried to write it down, I’m in awe.

I stood there asking is there more world beautiful than this place I’m gazing on? If yes I want to go there, I want to see that place and I want to feel it too. A world where I can be who I want to be, no more hiding, no more tears, and no more counterfeit people. I just wish and for that wish there's longing and from longing a hope is born. I wont hesitate to find what I'm looking for peace and what I longing for love. At this long road someone is holding me firmly but gentle. When He talks His soft voice makes me on my knees I knew I am loved by this someone.

There am I stanging, I stand in the middle of the crowd, looking forward to something, ideas to deal with; I’m in this crowded place searching beyond these thousands path. Can I use my instincts and guts? Then fall into a trap? I know the way will reveal it self, if that’s what I believed in; if I don’t make it works on me; one way to walk on, one way to discover. It’s a drag for me that I’ve been damage before, but I say it’s over with that gentle kiss it lessens the pain that’s stabs my soul deeply, throbbing, choking. I can still here it the beautiful song ever, the peacefulness that brought my soul and heart at ease.

My story has just begun, still wondering on my part, exploring what’s inside and out. I’ll just whisper it, it will be fun to listen. Maybe I compete in this life’s tragedy and commotion but a love who’s constantly embracing me leaving me no worry but to ease and rest.

Sleeping Dead Romantic

She closes her eyes with tears of despair. Agonize she felt astray. Wrecked, she was alone in the dark nothing but cold breeze rage, she shivers hugging herself for warm. Her knee close to her chest feeling the air that breathes in and out. No trust has left, fate vanish without a trace. Her beloved bid farewell she said.

He chose his path with regrets cover him, he walks with the thoughts of her endless, and numb he felt with no tears in his eyes. His heart wrecked with the last beat of it he knows his hours will come to an end eternal peace is at hand. Leaving her behind such tragic he can hear death knocking on the door and forgiveness is not enough. He’ll die without saying goodbye. Sweet words fade embracing his self on bended knees now with tears so warm it falls in his cheek. The pain he felt is nothing that feeling the pain much more when he left her in cold to death. It is time for him to rest he raise his hand in horizon at sight seeing her beloved smile, she reach as she trembles. Silent words spoken “I love you” they know that’s the closing of their stories. He fell with the bleeding heart; she fell alone in the dark with a frozen heart. Now they sleep with such romantic story yet tragic it ends.

Her Own Funeral

An early morning funeral in the midst of the garden; there she was holding her memories in trembling hands. The coldness of the sunset shivers her as she painted the night with tears of hopelessness. Holding herself with her knees close to her chest, face turn down in the ground. “How can this be a dream? A nightmare in my sleep.” A selfish thought come running through her mind, she listen but only silence answered back. As she remembers her own throbbing suddenly it started to rain. Drip, drip, drip she listen to the flow crushing down to the earth. She lifted hear head and look at the sky. It gave chills in every drop of it in her pale face. “Stop!” she whispered. She tries to stand and find a shelter. Running, running and there she found a small stage with a roof on it. Tired and almost out of breath she rest herself, just watching. Drip, drip, drip.

The rain stop as the darkness of the night creeps, covering the entire world; the moon rises with glow staring it makes her feel awe. Watch everything sparkles by the moon’s luminosity; she watches them glimmering. How beautiful to gaze at? As they seem grinning back at her. She dance even though drenched and cold she dance. With the smile on her face, hands held up high she suddenly bring to a halt. She notices something on the floor just right beside the stage, out of curiosity she started to walk there it was scattered roses on the ground; without realizing thorns at her feet. The pain of bleeding, she doesn’t mind, grabbing one “Lovely.”

Stuck by cruelty of the world asking inside when she will be free? Just dream, dream she will no longer return in their cruelty. A single hope can make a difference but the wounds that have been carved at her body, for years of entrapment makes the memories anxious at her; in thoughts letting her cry even more. Shamed and guilt cover her.

The death of her own soul leads to somewhere, her heart still grasping for anticipation and the ones she believe she will return with new life. Soaking wet, blood at her feet, tormented soul; she felt the sting but the pain inside is more agonizing. She is all alone and abused by the world. Sacrifices of love mend her hearts and the world laughs at her face. She closes her eyes and raises her hands above reaching the delight of what she feels above. She knows someone’s watching behind those clouds reaching out for her too. As she fainted through that cold midnight; She, with last breath those unfailing words “help me…”
Now trampled on the ground with eyes shut, she lies there dreaming. Tainted by the memories she wants to lose. In her most thrash adventure the world might forget, but the ones who left a mark will be remembered in a sense she only knows. Those last words of farewell only she can say. Now she leaves only for that dream with that someone with light caring her back home.