Novel & Cerita Reality Vs Dream

Then she looked at the magazine in my hand, pointed to the clothes on it and said, " Do you like this dress?” I looked straight at the ceiling and answered her: " The life in the dream is like reality, and the life now is like a dream.” She closed the drawer, stood up, motioned me to the bed, and asked: " Do you think it is real now?” She changed her words: " Do you want the life in your dreams or the life now.” I also felt that I was quite sick at that time, but if I thought it was one thing, if I did it again, it would be another thing.

He was teasing. "We? What's this... don't tell me you're having dirty dreams about me, we just had a long day, full of sweat and satisfaction... is that what you're looking for?" I blinked a few times. What did he say? Is this true? What's the name of the disease of people who can't tell the difference between the real world and dreams? Delusional? Psychosis? I don't know which one... I think I'm that kind of sick... I can't tell what's real and what's a dream. Is going to a psychiatrist expensive? Should I just go to a psychiatrist?

right You can dream as you wish, as you wish, in the most perfect form, and in the most wonderful form, And in the most ridiculous form, and in the strangest form, but in the most remote form from reality. You can also wish for anything as you wish as well. Dreams and wishes are personal matters. There is no wish police, or dream doctors roaming the streets to arrest any unrealistic demands, it is a personal matter between you and ... Yes, that is what I mean. Between you and no one else at all. The only thing that you should expect from the guard in this regard is - and I speak from purely personal experience - to be careful that what you wish or dream of can come true. And what will happen

The pressure of that attention nearly erased thought entirely. Not from force. From scale. The awareness beneath existence was unimaginably old. And unimaginably alone. Then— It spoke. Not with sound. Meaning pressed directly into the dream. YOU CONTINUE DESPITE ENDING. The shoreline shook violently. Several dreamers disappeared instantly— Waking up screaming across connected realities. Luke forced himself to stay standing. “Yes.” The shape shifted beneath the water. Reality struggled to define it continuously. WHY. The question carried no mockery. No challenge.

Every single word felt like a poisonous knife, slashing the image of the kind, sensible, and innocent young lady Raymond had always had of Tracy, leaving her completely unrecognizable. His bodyguard asked in a trembling voice, "Should we still go in, Mr. Johnson?" Raymond closed his eyes and turned to leave, saying, "Don't tell her that I was here." Raymond went back to the manor and drowned his sorrows in wine, one glass after another. He recalled everything that Tracy had just said. She faked being the person who saved his life because she only wanted to marry into wealth. She abandoned the pregnant Melanie by the roadside and robbed her of her chance to be a mother.

My eyes darted toward him on instinct, checking if he was waking up, checking if he was safe, checking if this glitching nightmare could somehow touch him. He slept on, unaware, his fingers curled loosely beside mine. “Dream’s influence? You mean his choices?” I asked. The system buzzed loudly, like a dying engine trying to restart and failing. “Dream’s wish conflicts with reality.” I froze. A hollow ringing echoed in my ears. “What wish?” I whispered.

The longer this day went on, the more I started to believe— This wasn’t a dream. What if everything I remembered—everything I lived—was the real dream? What if this was my reality? What if none of that ever happened?

No one comprehended the peculiarity of being a dreamer. There’re levels and layers. You could be awake and asleep. Or asleep and awake. It confused the brain about which reality you were in. There’re so many. She could count at least four she was aware of. Consciousness, the Dream Realm, unconsciousness, and then you have one where it’s a tossup between the three. The fourth one can be troublesome since it can lead to inappropriate actions or words. Or the opposite. Either way, there’re regrets are there.

I had no job, no savings, and the constant, gnawing hunger of a man who didn't know where his next meal was coming from. My dreams are getting more and more real. I’m having a hard time tell them apart, even though I have a wife and good job and two lovely kids, I keep feeling like my dream was actually reality, where I live with a roommate with no job and no kids and no money. The sensory details of the apartment were terrifyingly vivid. I could feel the grit of the linoleum floor under my bare feet; I could hear the distant, rhythmic thumping of a neighbor’s bass. Most disturbingly, I could remember things in the dream that I didn't know in the "real" world—the specific pin code to a broke

“Physical, real to the touch…” “Could that not be described as your mind telling you it’s real? So how do you know for sure that you are real?” His fingers slowly caress my arm from wrist to shoulder. I feel it. “In dreams, anything can feel real. So, am I real?” he asks. “Is this a dream?” “Is it?” He walks behind me. “Are you serious! Give me a straight answer!”