Dreams, eh? They’re just stories, right? Stories your own brain tries to tell you while you aren’t paying attention. They don’t really mean anything. That’s what you’ve got to tell yourself. Over and over, you’ve got to tell yourself that, that they don’t mean anything. You have to. Because if they did actually mean something. If those stories your own mind was trying to tell you while you weren’t paying attention, if *those* stories meant anything, anything at all….
Every morning I wake, and I ask myself, “What do you desire?”
And I am unable to provide an answer to myself.
And then again, after lunch, my belly full, I ask myself, “What do you desire?”
And again I am unable to provide an answer.
One last time, before sleep claims me, I ask, “What do you desire?”
And again, I am unable to answer.
What is it that so haunts this dusty brain that it cannot answer a question as simple as that?
I glanced at the clock above the stove, green, digital, commonplace.
It read 16:79.
I thought, “Oh god, where am I this time?”