the works on the esplanade plaza; reminds me of my usual brain state.

I dreamt of a few people last night, mostly close. vague, neutral-coloured dreams, as if ghosts on a pretty canvas with the light shining through their veins, mostly just vague. and what saddens me, is that throughout all the dreams i could never say much or see myself, as if a third person bystander looking on. quite saddening, quite saddening...

Josh. You were you 2 years ago. 17. I knew from what you were wearing, since it was what you wore the first time i met you. Shy. You were walking around your oldhouse gate aimlessly. with a blue-striped shirt, and blue jeans. in your hand, somehow, my extremely old dress, the one i used to wear when i was five, maroon with patterned holes at the rim. you were sad-ish, as if i could feel just what you were feeling. weird.

Kenny. You were you, now. running along a track, in the black berms you always wear, and your black polo. chasing something, because your eyes were looking forward. i heard myself call your name, and you looked to the side where i presume i was standing. and you just stared blankly. so i presume you couldn't see me.

Angelyn, Lauraeva, Lydia, Victoria, Theresa and Stef. Six of you were together, in school, at our not-so-frequented anymore spot outside the science lab. this dream was extremely vague, to the point i can't really remember. but i know you were all writing in a book. the inspeps/wonders book? then angelyn stood up and walked to the studio, opened the door and started crying. you sat down outside the lights room and just cried, and lauraeva had to come and help you up.

Matt. You were at siglap park, sitting on the exact same exercise bench thing we sat on the last day of school last year. And you were fixing your camera, and snapping random pictures, then you got up, left an envelope there, and walked towards home.

i have no idea why everyone seemed depressed, or sad. maybe i died. wouldn't that be fun, so it sort of makes sense to me why nobody could see or hear me. i was a soul. or, maybe my dreams are just retarded and morbid. why am i so deathpressing?