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The astronaut spoke to me, but I’ve forgotten what she said.

I know it was only a dream. Neurons firing, nothing more. But her words had a weight, a heft, an importance. She was insistent, spinning in that unbound darkness, her lips releasing urgent breaths. Still, I can’t remember.

It’s that feeling of leaving home and knowing I’ve forgotten something. It whimpers and paws at the back of my mind, but I can’t bring it to memory. There’s no choice but to shrug and hope I can live without.

Like shooting stars, her words flash by the corner of my eye:

our world is awake

I can’t catch them. They fade and fizzle, changing as I look at them. The more I focus, the less sure their meaning.

There’s no choice but to shrug and hope I can live without. I know it was only a dream. Neurons firing, nothing more.

And yet the day bears a sadness, like a story long forgotten, its ending never told.