Reality

In my dream, I am a pianist. I run my fingers haphazardly across the keys making thick melodious sounds.
In my dream, I am in my old house, slightly modified, with many rooms. We could pick any room, there are spares.
In my dream, I am with old friends again.

I don't think about them a lot when I'm awake, perhaps that's how they are collected in drips and drabs and released only when they are free to exist.