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.