An Ode to Dreams

I'm grateful for my dreams each night.
Some people don't remember theirs;
it's as if they blinked out and then blinked back in,
a computer turning off and then on.
But I live an entire life between 12 and 8.
It's exhausting, it's exhilarating
Often scary and sometimes silly
It makes it very hard to wake up;
leaving another world isn't easy,
Even if it's a world I would rather not see again.

I remember my dreams like memories.
Sometimes, I even quote things from them, forgetting it didn't really happen.
But it did, to me.
It's weird, but these private escapes have always delighted me...
I marvel at how the brain can generate these images, create new characters;
Give me powers or make me powerless.
I've read that dreams are only a few seconds long, even when they feel longer.
I've read that they are just a jumble of thoughts and feelings that represent
Your inner psyche.
But that doesn't explain why I met a talking monkey last night.
And why I'm a bit sad I might not meet her again.