I think I've been here before.

I have dreamed of the same house for the last year. It’s a two-story building in my subconsious’s version of the east side of Los Angeles, albeit a little greener and a with a lot less trash (both actual garbage and the human variety). All my things are already inside – photos line the walls, my dogs run around – it’s a perfect place and it’s mine. My dreams themselves are all a bit varied, but there is one constant. One room never changes. It’s a frightening space. Once, I forgot that it even existed until I wished for a second bedroom (I wish for one in my waking life, too). Then I opened that door. It is dark and dusty and full of cobwebs. Nothing is touched here. It’s too simplistic to believe that it’s every feeling and memory I’ve pushed down. That doesn’t feel right. I don’t know what it is, or what it means, but I do know this – last time I opened it (on a house tour, because of course everyone dreams about entertaining friends ;)  there was less dust. A little more light. So, whatever it means, I’m choosing to believe that it’s good. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.