The Film Between

It's not so different from screaming underwater, muffled and blunted by the film between sleep and waking. Screaming in a dream is like screaming in a phone booth made of warped plexi. The sound expels in visible waves, thuds clumsily in slow motion as it meets the walls, does an inelegant pirouette and rattles back again.

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Love, Have You Seen Him?

I feel heartbroken. But don’t you need love first for a heart to break? Is love some shellac that must be painted in thick strokes, hardened to a sheen, ripened to a patina to look like time and something shared? You need only as much as the back of a spoon, and a tiny tap at just the right spot to crack it wide open.

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