Waking up from an awful and terrifying dream, as the houses were standing in front of me, separated by the walls with no gap existing. Windows were the only source of light, whereas the space behind me was soaked by the endless darkness — with such darkness, I could even not ensure its ending, nor its existence. The light from the windows could not be ignored — via them, I was watching with a feeling of being watched from the gaps of the frames, movements between the curtains, or anywhere. Driven by a vague idea, I wanted to find out this feeling, hidden in the rooms — the rooms were here, in the columns and rows of the houses.
I walked towards a door in the same colour of the walls, knocked it with a dull sound. The door was opened, as it had been opened for a while, where I could see a shallow gap outlining the shape of the door. I didn't notice who opened it, because the light came into my eyes carrying a intangible pressure on them meanwhile, with a picture of my bedroom appearing in my mind — belonging to an unfamiliar memory in nowhere I knew. Likely attracted by the erratic light in the air, I moved into the room.
Because it was my bedroom, there was no need to escape. I touched and fondled the table, lamp, and the fabric of a quilt on my bed, the papers and books on my desk, with an alien but comfortable and reassuring smell. My fingers moved on them, like sweeping a film of the dust out; the dust made of every moment I couldn't clearly remember to, but it existed, as the rooms existing. I sat on the bed, looked at the window. Because it belonged to my bedroom, so I could see any curtain on it — just as the status it should be.
My bedroom was not huge, but only had a small bed next to one of the walls in the room, a desk with a lamp on it, next to a bookshelf, covering with a monochrome and drab colour on the walls. Never changing, and never be remembered. I can feel the light was wandering in the air, escaping from one side to another side, and return, and return, as I was walking in the room, from one side to another side, like waking in a maze — the time was running off, leaking from the position — the position that I should be at, but nothing told me where, as the rooms were telling me. I could see the phantom space outside of the window on the wall, see the light went out of the window, dived into the darkness without any hesitation, and probably never return. And I — I moved my legs, walked to the front of the door — the monochrome and drab door as the wall was — I was watching, watching the indistinct and vaporous handle on it, and rotated it to open the door —
I am standing on the rooftop. The light is shining, mixed with the blurred and wet air and wind, and lightly drifting on the everywhere of my body, as if they have not experienced that tortuous path.
I can see the sun rising, via a misty dream.
8 Mar. 2026
No right reserved; published in 2026.