Preface: My Sanctuary
Sometimes, at night when I lie in bed, the world of sleep and the world of dreams let down their bridge.
My soul parts my body and waltzes to the halfway mark of that bridge where I hear hums like the sounds of harp strings. The place is nameless. Naming that place where the aroma of strawberry crêpes asphyxiates the air is like trying to count the stars. My mind walks alongside the sidewalks of that place and I see obscure memories pass by: Alex, Kate, a jar with scraps of paper, Tina, Leo, a basketball... There are so many perfect names and things that slink by and I fall, lost in a lapse of time. A warm sensation radiates from my skin and my mind starts slipping. But almost always, just before I pass this sliver between the parallel worlds, my closed eyes find the faltering haze of two figures I cannot recognize. Silhouettes.
