PIECES OF SLUMBER

Falling into an unknown void—space or place—yet the moment you see it, everything feels familiar. Like an old home, or a school you once knew, embracing your memories and unfolding them into another dimension. Being in two places at once becomes possible there, and that alone feels like an adventure.

Sometimes it’s terrifying. Sometimes it’s enchanting. And sometimes—utterly worth it.

You meet people you’ve never encountered before, yet feel an immediate familiarity toward them, as if you’ve known them your whole life. Their presence lingers—warm, recognizable—even without a name or a past.

You move with abilities you never question: flying, teleporting, bending space itself. What would be impossible while awake becomes effortless. Natural. Ordinary.

Because once you surrender to deep sleep, everything becomes normal.

And you dream.

Dreaming… it is like stepping into somewhere special—somewhere your own world can exist exactly as you imagine it. A place where imagination takes shape and becomes real.

Even Alice, lost in her Wonderland, found meaning in her journey. Her world was a gift to the mind of a child yearning for adventure, where curiosity led the way and wonder had no limits. And then there was Little Nemo, wandering through Slumberland—a realm overflowing with imagination. Even his nightmares chased him awake, haunting him just enough to pull him back to reality.

But they never stopped dreaming.

And neither do we.

Even as we grow older, we still dream. We still hope to lose ourselves in our own Wonderland—to wander through our own Slumberland once more.

And me?

I have my own. I have my own dreams. And I, too, have my own Dreamland.

I have a place I can call my own. And even if it exists only in dreams, it feels real to me. I have my nightmares, my premonitions—my stories waiting to be told.

As I dive into that world, I let myself drown in imagination. There, I can fall into something strange—something enchanting, or even terrifying. I can meet people. I can fall in love.

Inside my dreams, everything is possible.

All I need is to set my mind free— or simply let the dream take control.

Since childhood, my mind has been filled with imagination—dreams that carried me to extraordinary places. But as I grew older, something within me began to change. And with it, my dreams changed too.

My dreamland shifted. Transformed.

And it scares me.

That is why I want to write them now—so I can remember them again, so I can reminisce, or perhaps, one day, return to them in my sleep.

My Dreamland. The enchanted forest. The abandoned town. My favorite part of the sea. Even the mansion I once lived in.

They are slowly shifting, slowly being replaced. The mysterious ruins and enchanted waterfalls fade away, giving way to a long, weary road… and our old house.

I even stopped dreaming about that house—the one that once waited for me. The man in the attic. The shifting stairwell.

All of it slowly disappeared.

I want to remember them again—one by one— before I learn to embrace the new world forming inside my dreams.