Waking up with strange dreams rattling around in my brain.
I can't remember what they were about now of course. Only their echo remains, like an after-taste...emotion detached from its life source.
It occurs to me now (possibly because of the hour) that people are like that too; when we die.
At first their presence remains so strong and real in our lives that we can't believe that they are gone. Then we begin to forget, until all that is left is an after-taste, a vague memory of what they felt like to us. Once again emotion detached from it's life source.
Some say that as long as the dead are remembered they live on.
If I had remembered my dreams, would that have made them any more real?
Our lives are like that I think.....a dream, the recollection of which matters little.