Rooms we dream in

Rooms we dream in Some rooms only exist when we close our eyes. They don’t obey the rules of architecture or light. They aren’t limited by geography or time. They’re stitched together from memories, longings, fragments of songs, and that strange kind of knowing that belongs to dreams. You’ve been in one before, haven’t you? A room where you wake up certain you’ve been there before, though you’ve never seen it in daylight. A room that feels like it remembers you. There’s a certain smell to it—not quite familiar, but warm. Maybe it smells like the books you loved when you were a child. Or like the inside of an old trunk in an attic you never visited. The floor might creak in a rhythm that sounds like a heartbeat. There might be windows, but they show skies that don’t belong to this planet. Some of them show oceans with no horizon. Others, your childhood backyard, except the trees are taller, older, almost listening. The rooms we dream in are not always peaceful. Some carry the weight of ...