11:11 AM. Make a wish, it might come true.

Silently, all I could think about was the dream. No, not the murderous one, where Sean is the murderer. A different dream, one I’ve had many times.

I’m too afraid to write about it because I’m afraid someone will know.

THE dream.

MY dream.

And a part of me wished, at 11:11 AM, that the dream would come true. And another part of me saw Sean as a murderer.

I’ll find myself thinking about it, in the shower, at band, at parties… and the most pathetic thing is, I smile. I become happy.

If most people knew about the dream, if I were to tell anyone, they would laugh. It seems as though nothing I say can be taken seriously.

Though I suppose the wide, toothy smile spread across my face wouldn’t do much to prove my true seriousness.

It doesn’t matter. Only one person has a clue. Only one person listened.

Nothing else could possibly matter more.