The Department of Forgotten Dreams: Where Night Shifts Never End

Welcome to the Department

Imagine a skyscraper that doesn’t appear on any city map. Its windows flicker only at midnight, and its elevators hum with lullabies instead of muzak. This is the Department of Forgotten Dreams — a bureaucratic wonderland where all the things you once wished for but never pursued have found permanent employment.

At the reception desk sits an old teddy bear with glasses sliding down its nose. It doesn’t speak, just stamps your entry card with ink made from spilled starlight. Inside? Rows upon rows of cubicles, each one occupied by a dream you forgot.

Not dead. Not gone. Just… working overtime.

The Staff Nobody Talks About

The employees here aren’t people. They’re your forgotten fragments:

• The dream of becoming an astronaut — still in its space suit, now typing memos about orbital logistics.
• The half-written novel — pacing its cubicle, forever chewing on pens.
• The bakery you once imagined opening — covered in flour, stuck filling out tax paperwork instead of rolling dough.
• That fleeting wish to run away and join the circus — juggling staplers for the amusement of no one.

Every dream is assigned a permanent night shift. They don’t complain, but they don’t thrive either. They exist in a limbo of endless routine, carrying the faint bitterness of being forgotten.

The Architecture of Abandonment

The building itself is alive. Corridors stretch out the longer you hesitate. Conference rooms flicker between states — sometimes a childhood bedroom, sometimes your first apartment, sometimes the office you swore you’d never work in again.

There’s an entire floor called The Archive, where boxed-up ambitions are stored. Each one is labeled in your handwriting:

• “The painting phase (2008–2010).”
• “That business idea with the glowing sneakers.”
• “Being fluent in French.”

Dust gathers, but the dreams inside still stir, hoping for parole.

Night Shifts & Paperwork

Every night, when the world falls asleep, the Department whirs to life. Forgotten dreams file reports:

• Lost Progress Forms (why you stopped trying).
• Excuse Declarations (lack of time, money, courage, or just… life).
• Hope Residuals (the little spark that still wonders, “What if?”).

Supervisors — tall, shadowy figures stitched from old pillowcases — shuffle between cubicles, making sure no dream sneaks out to remind you. They call it “Containment.”

Visitors Welcome (But Not For Long)

Sometimes, people stumble into the Department by accident. A sleepless night, a strange dream, a walk through fog at 3 a.m. — and suddenly, there it is: the unmarked building with glowing windows.

Visitors often find themselves face to face with a dream they abandoned. Some cry. Some laugh. A few quit their jobs the next morning and finally start that novel, or enroll in flight school, or dust off the guitar.

But most leave shaken, and the doors vanish behind them. They tell themselves it was “just a weird dream.” And so, the Department keeps running, uninterrupted.

The Loneliest Office Party

Once a year, on the night of the solstice, the Department throws a party. All the forgotten dreams gather in the cafeteria (fluorescent lighting, bad coffee, stale donuts) and swap stories:

• The “become-a-rockstar” dream talks about how it almost made it past auditions.
• The “travel-the-world” dream complains about always being delayed by unpaid bills.
• The “learn-to-dance” dream spins awkwardly in the corner, hoping someone will notice.

The karaoke machine breaks halfway through, as always. But for a few hours, the cubicles feel lighter, almost joyful. Then midnight ends, and the night shift resumes.

Why Forgotten Doesn’t Mean Gone

Here’s the truth: not every dream is meant to be pursued. Some are stepping stones. Some were never realistic. Some were just borrowed whims.

But the fact that they live on in the Department means they’re still a part of you. They don’t disappear; they just wait. Sometimes, they even escape. A whiff of nostalgia, a sudden craving, a new chance in life — that’s a dream sneaking back out of its cubicle, knocking on your door again.

And maybe next time, you’ll answer.

Closing Reflection: The Dream You Still Owe Yourself

If the Department of Forgotten Dreams truly exists, it isn’t a tragedy. It’s a reminder. A reminder that your imagination was never wasted, even if you didn’t act on it. That all the strange, impossible, or impractical things you once wanted still matter, because they shaped the person you are.

So maybe tonight, when you close your eyes, ask yourself: Which dream is still working overtime, waiting for me to come back?

And then—don’t just leave it in the cubicle. Clock it out. Bring it home.