In dreams, images and sounds are merged for the purpose of storytelling. Poignant dreams are designed to be forgotten by morning. The intensity of life upon day break disintegrates all things with little scruple. This doesn't happen out of habit. Emotional diatribes don't subsist alone, without help.
I let the hours pass with polite indifference. I don't hope to dispel the effects of it, or fix its countless metamorphoses.
My eyes open against my will.
I'm arrested by the usual feelings.
