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Explore a collection of the latest dreams shared by our community. Discover common themes, intriguing narratives, and unique symbolism. From vivid adventures to thought-provoking scenarios, these recent dreams offer a glimpse into the subconscious mind and may even spark insights into your own dream world. Browse the "Latest Dreams" to find inspiration, connect with others, and delve deeper into the fascinating realm of dreams.

I had a dream that I was involved in some sort of computer project / move for my friend Chris (guy.) I needed to contact Leon as the equipment was his. Leon and I had a summer romance, it fizzled, and I deleted his number. Never heard from him again. I reached out via FB and he showed up with a guy friend of his. I left bags for him to pack his computer equipment in. He packed, commented that "I was always so smart" and walked into the kitchen. Within seconds, he was walking out of my house, not turning around to say good-bye - just walking out. (Just like he essentially did in real life.) Nothing said - just left. I felt abandoned, sad and wondering why I'm dreaming this again. (To remind myself he's not a nice guy?)

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I was in an abandoned building with Mohammed Alsharif and this couple (whom I don't actually know but I seemed to know in the dream). The four of us were going to go somewhere and I ended up outside in the car (a yellow convertible) with the couple. The guy was driving and he started to drive off without Mohammed. I protested and the guy said something to the effect of 'screw him' and then said, 'He shouldn't lag behind.' I got highly offended and demanded we go back. The guy refused; I argued; he refused. So, I told him to let me out. He woudn't. So, we argued about that until I told him this was kidnapping and got my phone out to call the police. I was deposited on a dark, rain-slicked skid row street. It was very dark and I started to walk back to the apartment to find Mohammed. I got to the upstairs doorway - a kind of doorway without a door to a landing with cracked and abused plaster, the cement floors covered in dust and debris - and he was there. "I'm so sorry, I said. "No problem," he shrugged in classic Mohammed fashion. "No, it's terrible. They were going to leave without you." "It's okay." Again, quintessential Mohammed casual shrug. "They're assholes. I'm so sorry. What should we do now?" I asked, thinking we would make alternate plans for the night out. He smiled in a cute, coy way and blushed as he shrugged his shoulders. I got the hint and smiled and blushed and looked down at my shoes. As I looked back up, he put his arms around my neck - very gently, very shyly - and leaned over to kiss me. It was gentle at first, but as I became more receptive, he got bolder. At one point, I gave a little whimper while he was kissing me and lips still on mine, he smiled and repeated my whimper mockingly. In this torrent of polite and demure passion, the boldest I could force myself to be was to press a hand to his chest. His hands never ventured beyond the back of my neck.

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I was on my ship that I served on in the Navy in the 1980's walking by a compartment and in the compartment I saw 4 NY Yankees from the 1970's - 3 pitchers (Ron Gidury, Goose Gossage, and Catfish Hunter) as well as another player not a pitcher but I can't recall who it was. They all had boxes of baseball memorabilia from the 70's with them. I realized that I had in essence stepped back in time that we were in present day 2012 but they were in essence in the 1970's and could not "reach" me. I also realized that their memorabilia was valuable. For whatever reason I was a real jerk to them - and I knew that there was nothing they could do about it. For example, I told Goose Gossage that he was going to have a hard time getting into the hall of fame, told Gidury that he would become a Yankees pitching coach and nothing more, and told Catfish hunter that he would die a young man of Lou Gehrig's disease. I also told them how successful Reggie Jackson had become. I was also rummaging through their memorabilia and was going to steal some of it. Through all of this they just stood there behind their memorabilia and it seemed as though they could do or say nothing. They were almost like cardboard figures. For whatever reason I decided not to take anything and began to walk out, and as I did I looked over my shoulder and made a wise ass comment, but I don't recall what it was. As I turned again to look forward I saw Joe Torre, Bucky Dent, Craig Nettles, Chris Chambliss, and other 1970's Yankees walking in, but they were not young and in their 20's but as they currently look and in their current age. I remember distinctly that Joe Torre was in front and was holding a baseball bat - he was also wearing sun glasses. It was at that point that I realized that I had not stepped back in time but we were in present day and that these Yankees were all gathering for old timer's day. No one said a word to me and I walked out past the Yankees that came in. Fear and shame swept over me because I knew that my actions would be known to the world. That's where the dream ended.

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