Words and things. I dreamed about writing and writing, so effortlessly, so fluidly. And of a new mentor. And the school English teacher I owe my language to. Walking out of her class for the last time and saying goodbye and thanking her for everything. And my ex-roommate. And she was writing too. Handing me these reams and reams of stories that she'd written when she was in school.
Woke up with a start and was immediately seized with the desperation to remember everything. To write this all down, somehow. To not forget a thing, not a single word. Brushed teeth frantically, clinging on to every word in my head, every thought, every memory of that dream. Dreams. Fragments in my head. Precious to me for no conceivable, fathomable, sane reason.
Words, those fragments, still bursting from my head, in wild, screeching chaos. Not unsettling, not the slightest bit. Just mad, and churning. Quietly churning, whispering mad. The bite of fresh toothpaste in my mouth swirling and flavouring those drowsy thoughts. Those dreams. Those precious dreams.
Woke up with a start and was immediately seized with the desperation to remember everything. To write this all down, somehow. To not forget a thing, not a single word. Brushed teeth frantically, clinging on to every word in my head, every thought, every memory of that dream. Dreams. Fragments in my head. Precious to me for no conceivable, fathomable, sane reason.
Words, those fragments, still bursting from my head, in wild, screeching chaos. Not unsettling, not the slightest bit. Just mad, and churning. Quietly churning, whispering mad. The bite of fresh toothpaste in my mouth swirling and flavouring those drowsy thoughts. Those dreams. Those precious dreams.
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