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I imagined my death in my sleep last night. I even cried for myself. It's funny how I was progressing with the narrative on my own and even enjoyed doing that. My lucid dreaming went all night. Today when I tried recalling the mood, it was all lost. Then I saw a film and now everything is mixed up. Reality is slipping away. And yet I have a certain hold over things I think have happened with me. How much of my memory is my own? Some things should be written and left at places like these to ensure that the door between the known and the unknown is kept ajar.