Sometimes I worry a dream will come to me and whisper the horrors the future holds through my ears. I'll wake up and stress to my loved ones of end times, but they won't believe me until it's too late.

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Last night I dreamed of 2003. I woke up and realized the year was wrong. My roommate and I were the same age as the year I truly lived in, and the first devastation I experienced was knowing my lover would be too young to take interest in me if I could not escape the timeline.

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Now, I repeatedly check the year to ensure I'm not still trapped. The anxiety of escaping a riot I was too young to remember still thundering through my veins.

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Sometimes, I hope my dreams mean nothing.