24 December, 2003 - 5:23 a.m.

in the wee, small hours of the morning, it's funny how things take on such a surreal tinge.

muted voices? no, it's just the sound of distant traffic.

traffic jams, lost house keys, locations which constantly change? no, it's just a twisted dream-version of the events from the day.

epiphany? no, it's just a random thought that, though seeming to make sense then, causes nothing but furrowed brows in the morning.

thirsty? have a drink of water. did you really just have a glass of water, or did you dream that? if you had just drank, then why are you still thirsty? oh no! you've dropped it. bed is saturated. no, wait, that's a dream, too. Thirsty, thirsty, thirsty. If you wake up, you can quench it. Are you awake yet? you must be, you're sitting upright, aren't you? Reach out for the bottle of water. What's this? A pumpkin? Why is there a pumpkin next to your bed? must have brought it back in after that walk through the woods boasting the waterfall and the windchimes. What woods? This must still be a dream. Wake up, wake up, wake up - still so thirsty.

intelligent conversation? witty taunts. quick exchanges. questions that just have to be asked. answers which you've been waiting for since you learnt how to breathe. and can you remember any of it? no. all you have are fragmented memories, misted over with the fine gossamer of sleep.

the light of day never seemed more harsh.