[Book.]

We become who we are in the dreams we forget.

This morning, I woke up and my heart was inexplicably broken. As if the moonlight cast in the window reminded me of someone I’d never known, a secret I’d kept from myself. Pain removes the reason from us. We are lost in wondering why, nowhere a viable foothold, to slip between the lines on the uncertain page. How does one truly empty his mind? It seems that the only recourse is distraction, to fill it instead with something else, to escape your regular sights and sounds to expose the imagination to novelty. It was still dark out when I awoke, some strange 4am glowing red in the clock by my bed — a hint of an archaic weird. The brokenness inside compelled me, then, and that is all that my memory would keep of the hour I spent between there and here, otherwise a numb blank is all that’s stored.