(1939-01-01) Entry #01
Details for Entry #01
Summary: The new year means the start of a new dream journal, or something.
Date: 1939-01-01

I suppose by virtue of being the first of the year I ought to make some sort of special note. Or…no, it doesn't mean that at all. I record my dreams here, not petty thoughts. (So if you're reading this with the hope of learning my secrets, too bad. Diaries are for fools).

I dreamed about a dead man. Sometimes he was deep beneath the ground, but other times he was standing in the shadows of this woman's bedroom while she slept. When he was buried, it was as if the earth was transparent to me; I could see through to him laying in his coffin, and even that was like a murky sort of glass. I know he could through it all, too - to the woman as she stood over him. She was ever the same awake as she was asleep: without expression. Mind, I watched this all unfold as if I were a ghost, unseen and unable to participate.

He…sang, the dead man, about her. Never directly, never specifically, but I know it was about her. How she assumed no one ever saw the things she did, or that she was alone, and how very foolish of her that was. I can only just remember the words…A real pain, too, because dreaming I told myself it was important to recall his song upon waking! (It was good, surprisingly. At least I remember feeling as though it were a good song, all things considered).

The most macabre part of the entire dream was how he touched her while she slept. (A drop of ink has fallen here, as though from a hovering, hesitating hand)

Dreams of the dead at the start of a new year. I wonder what sort of herald that is. …On second thought, maybe the figure of the ignorant woman is what I should be looking at.

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