A feeling of disconnect, faint little flickers, like a radio signal popping in every so often. When it connects, I can feel it ricochet all about, a muted jolt, sending me awash. And then it subsides, and the dream picks up where it leapt off.

 

I can stare down old pictures and fill myself with song. I can send emails to glasses half full, but I can't send myself back in one piece, unopened, a gift to those who gave me everything. Home, the fainter it becomes, the stronger its fragments are, shining like stars, making up the only universe I know.

 

I don't know the way back or the way out. I don't know how I make these decisions in the dark, in this great, big swamp of mist and fog. Silence on the inside, and dewdrops on the outside of the car.

 

I feel can't feel clearly, I wish I had a guide I could go out and buy, like one of those yellow "for idiots" books. I would check out a whole library of them, and take the secrets to my grave, like those before me, and those before me.

 

Mountains of pressure held behind a cloud, held amidst a blue sky. What a wonderful facade it all is. The dream shall never die.