i tried, i really did

I went to bed a few minutes after midnight, and I was even tired, I really was. I also felt a bit queasy, like from indigestion. Maybe that is why I didn't fall asleep. My blood/head is thrumming too, as if I had a bunch of caffeine, though I haven't. So I got back up for a bit.

Started leafing through an old journal. From back when some of my words were poetry. Sometimes I wrote in riddles. Or rather, abstrusely. It's been so long, that some of my references I can no longer even decipher. I don't remember what I was referencing. Or it takes me a while to remember.

A bit of word-play from back then:

well
    if i ain't done did it, then i ain't
    and if i did done do it, then i did.

A memory of a moment:

i close my eyes
       and the snow keeps falling and falling
             in every direction

From the last page of this particular journal:

These... dreams... seem to be pre... dreamt
        how could it be me, creating them?
            They fit so perfectly
                     the pieces snap into place
      if i create pieces of a dream, and they
       merge, flow, come together as if they had
  always been parts of one whole which i had
                       not imagined, could it be me
who had created them? You tap into creation...
             and it gives you...
   Am i the dreamer, dreaming the dream,
      or the Dream, being dreamt?