I found an enormous storehouse. I had the key in my hand. I opened it and saw things in it.
[Filled up every inch, humidity strokes my lungs]
Familiar things…flooded my brain with faces, names, places, and memories.
But then I realized those things aren't mine.
So I moved them outside.
A second after I woke up, I remembered a line in a poem I read a few months ago:
“Maybe things that I thought belonged to me, weren't never really been mine after all”
“Shit...” I murmured.
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| image: salvador dali - the dream |
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