Waking life

I woke up from a dream today. It was a vague and fleeting kind of dream like the haze that forms when you breathe on glass on cold winter mornings. But I recall a fragile bird with a beautiful song. It flew away or died. I couldn’t exactly remember but whether it flew away or died, I know something in me flew or died along with it.

I wonder if that was just a dream. Could it be that I was awake then but lapsed into the other wakefulness called sleep, gliding sluggishly, aimlessly, merrily down it’s stream?



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