Point B

Waking is the bridge. There's always a split second between dream and wake in which you forget. You always forget. Sometimes, the orientation changes. You thought you were facing a different wall, in a bedroom you had ten years ago. Instead, you wake up here, dizzy. What happened to the drawings on the wallpaper, clumsy scribbles of UFOs and Mommy's face: caveman stories, written by child-you? Miles between here and there: a sloppy, cartoonish bridge laid between the points. Those walls don't exist the same way. Someone else's drawings may be covering yours now. Or maybe the wallpaper is blank, uncorrupted. And yet, here you are, waking up and noticing the cables, the traffic, then finally, the point B.