Folded thought of the day:

Am I the dreamer of dreams or the projector, reflecting a 
dream dreamt long ago, flashing through time, shining 
through my eyes and out my fingers?

Don't be fooled by things you believe.  Unspoken languages 
are revealing themselves, behind the smoke and mirrors, 
creeping from beneath the floorboards, taking hold of 
our hearts, stacking the cards in our favor.  About time. 

You'll forgive me if I seem a little less than grounded 
today.  It's just that I'm looking back at my footsteps 
and they seem covered in shadow.  Or maybe they didn't 
make much of an impression.  Either way, I can't make 
them out too well and I can't be sure where I've been 
and who I might have met and what it all means.  If 
anything.  

Has this been a progression or have I just been spinning 
in a circle of my own orbit, as ruled by the gravitational 
pull of the limits of my reason?  And where do these 
dreams come from?  Such a strange collection of images.  
That can't be mine.  

Where are the eyes that will cry for me.  Where are the 
lips that will part to remember me.  Where are the hands 
that will bid farewell.  Who will carry this dream... who 
will shine on?  And where am I going?  

Was it really necessary to turn my back so many times?  
Was anybody watching as I walked away?  Couldn't I 
have stayed for another round, accepted the extended 
hand and the gracious invitation?  Was the cold outside 
really that comforting?  

Creeping up on a dream.  Sneaking in the backdoor, 
listening for signs, searching for a lightswitch 
and feeling nothing but the wall.  The one I 
fashioned so carefully.  

Open eyes full of the dark night, sweating, rolling, 
waking...  but was I ever really asleep?  Or awake 
for that matter?  

Can the dreamer live without the dream?