Brace yourself, this is not a memory. 

This is dreaming. I seem to be stuck here. 

It’s not a matter of graceless behaviour

I assure you. I cannot be said to move brutishly. 

I am fluid. I am without definition. But I shall try. 

“Do you find meaning when you close your eyes?” 

She is rolling around the floor, 

stretching and breathing, healing her energetic being. 

She stops, sighs deeply. “How do you mean, meaning? 

I should think the very idea of closing ones supposed sight 

 would create a landslide of imaginings. What are you seeing? 

I mean, precisely. The figments of my imagination dance around with intent. 

But these things seen, how are they moving? Am I also thinking them into being? 

Where is the disconnect? Are you okay? You feel distant.” She is insistent. 

I cannot stray for long, not into spaces that do not insight healthy patterns of thought. 

She sees in colour. She speaks the same.