who we are and all that we're trying to be
Dreams were just dreams, until they weren’t – until it felt like reality plummeting and plunging, gateways to other things and fragments. In his sleeping, slumbering haze, recognition didn’t dawn save for crystals and the notion of the island itself, then his mind sharpening, head twisting and turning, trying to salvage meaning behind the motion of pictures and images.
Caverns. Figures. Bodies. Forms – beyond a haze of black and lilac. And then something like a core which made him clench his jaw and bite down the hazardous wakes of other wars and torments. Days of before and days of after. Of Gods, both New and Old. But these were foreign and alike all in one semblance.
Stifling something else, faces flashed, some recognizable and giving him pause (for what were they doing there? Maybe they’d ask the same of him), before everything seemed to simply end.
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
