I sometimes wish I had access to the world of my dreams. I see a world inside when I sleep, though it is still rare when I come upon a dream that I wish I could return to. Instead I can only remember intrinsic details, and peer at them; as impressionist paintings. I wish I could go back to that house, with the several different rooms with the one garden-themed room that I can never find, and the caves, and that beach house, among others. I haven't remembered many of my dreams lately, and I definitely haven't been writing them down. And I don't know why my dreams have diminished in clarity so much, but I hate it.
Memories are a problem too. I often encounter sights, smells, or just auras of suggestion that bring me feelings of melancholy, of desire, or desperation, like they should trigger some related memory, but they don't, or at least, not ones that I remember. And then there are the pictures in my mind, those of which I will never be sure are really memories or dreams. A couple of them seem too bizarre to be real, but too clear to be a dream, but really I was too young to remember clearly anyway.