I talked to a young man with white hair on a boat cabin in the middle of a stormy sea. He forgot everything about himself exept for the fact that his name rhymed with ‘Time’ so he started calling himself Time.
I offered him an orange in exchange for a meaningful chat. He took the slice and told me “Nothing’s set in stone, but they’re set in a dirt road. If you roll your wagon in the same path too much it’ll soon be the only path you can take without struggling.”
sounds more like you talked to an old god more than a weird dream.
you ever just commune with a storm?
I love how everyone in the tags collectively decided to envision him as a wise, all knowing sage like being while I vividly remember scrambling for a tissue in my dream bc he accidentally dribbled orange juice down his chin and stained the tablecloth like a overexcited child
