At least, my nightmare isn’t real
Last night, I was on my way home when a storm suddenly came from nowhere. The roar of the storm echoed through the night as I drove. And soon, the sky was filled with lightning. Each jagged bolt that streaked across the sky felt like a deadly game of roulette, and the constant fear of being struck scared the fuck out of me. Every time I saw the flash, I braced myself for the searing pain of electricity coursing through my veins, for the sudden darkness that would follow.
It was just a nightmare.
So I apparently woke up at some point, with sweat all over my body, heart pumping out of my chest, but feeling relief that it was just a dream. I still here, cuddled up warm and safe in my bed with a full stomach and my cat right next to.
But, on the other side of the world, there’re people who are living my nightmare right now. There’re people living in the midst of war zones, constantly in fear of being bombed at any moment. There’re people struggling to survive, scavenging for food, eating everything they can find. There’re children witnessing horrors that would make even a grown man vomit. There’re lovers who don’t know if their loved ones are dead or alive.
And those are the people who live day by day uncertain if they will wake up the next. Those are people who just want a sweet dream at night. Those, are the people who are living my nightmare.
Now, I’m not some kind of politician. I don’t stand for any side, and can’t speak to the rights and wrongs of war. All I know is I’m living thousands of people’s dreams, and they’re living my nightmare.
And it’s just sad.