The depths of a dream.

I'm trying to remember that darkness, but truthfully that's all it is, is darkness. How could it be so compelling - something to rightfully be afraid of? And yet I dream of it, hold the fragile hope in my heart that one day I will find it, or at least be able to remember it accurately. Because the only place it comes to me is in my dreams. It's all fresh, right there on the surface of my mind when I open my eyes, ready to be skimmed off and recalled. But as soon as I try to imagine it, it's gone once again.