Day 6
Their faces blurred through time, transcending the boundaries of the moment, infantile ignorance intertwined with death masks, lives beginning and ending like a summoned flame, extinguished at the moment of conception. A snap of unseen fingers, reversed again and replayed, eternally and never. They are in their moment. Joy. Sorrow. Dichotomous impressions.
I stared in the mirror to make sure my own face wasn't vibrating with no thought of linearity. No, this is the only concrete exhibition, no difference between youth and unseen age. I am already dead; I do not yet exist. The world of dreams seeps into the day, sleep boiling through the barriers, erasing sanity and restoring hope. Erasing hope and restoring sanity. A juggling act of illusions. Night comes and already dreams have flitted in and out of the day. The mirror proves purity and filth wear the same mask. Dreams serve to reinforce the reflection.
"Henry, why? You say you're awake now. Is this any better?"
The language of sleep speaks in slant, perverting the waking world. Balances stretches beyond grasp, taunting me.
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