Day bleeds into night and then into day again, awake, then
asleep, only to wake once more, this is how time travels, even when I resist
losing it, and can’t recall what transpired in this part or that, except for
minor details that seem so unimportant when I look back at them, not as it once
was when I thought each moment too previous to let pass unexplained, or filled
with events I thought of as significant, if nobody else thought so, day
bleeding into night, where the details rise out of dreams, makes it unclear to
me exactly what is real and what is not, and which detail I should cling to as
a memory, to treasure or let to, to forget or remember when I wake again.
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