It’s driving your old car through familiar streets,
Or having a conversation with a river
Of a city you’re not from,
But you are its sibling;
The similarity is striking.
You could see yourself in it.
Here, you are family.
     You are welcome.

It’s jumping in the car with a drunk driver
Who insists on letting you know
He has not a clue how to operate a vehicle,
Or hearing unsettling words from a best friend,
From someone you love,
Or from your childhood pet
Who died when you were 16.
     You are mystified.

Dreams can only be interpreted by the dreamer;
No one can tell you what your dreams mean.
How do you see your world
Behind closed, rapid moving eyes?
“Everything we see and seem,
Is but a dream within a dream.”
Where does that leave reality?
    You are uncontrollable.

I have been confusing my dreams with reality,
And my dreams are turning on me.
When reality seems all right,
My dreams will try to prove otherwise.
I can’t make you my family.
I can’t hear the words you say.
As much as I would like to live this life,
     You are unreal to me.