As the blinds were drawn across the window that night, they were not folded anymore since the night never ended. The owl kept hooting, the birds were sleeping in their nests and I kept myself immersed in the depths of my dreams. The dream never ended; the trance never seemed to give me out. A thought kept recurring, the vision kept flickering. I was lost in the vagueness of the past, outdone maybe by the weapons of reminiscence. My head was turned toward the hill, the hill that seemed to be very close until you reached it.
Even in the dead of the night, the peak had a luminous lining: I wondered from where the light had come. I kept wondering and wondering, until the arms of the present defeated future, and the hill disappeared from before me and only the dead of the night came to grasp the ambience altogether. I journeyed through the woods in a lonely road, with only a light to guide me. I neither knew from where the light came nor my destination. I went on and on until I saw the hill reappearing once again. I stopped momentarily and resumed my wonder. I looked towards the night sky, miles above me, but saw only Mars glowing brightly. Stars were markedly absent. While wondering, I thought of reaching the light at the hill-top; but for that, I had to journey there. The night never ended, and so didn’t my passion. I tried for months, for years until I just reached the bottom of the hill. Now when I looked up, I couldn’t see that same light at the top; but I knew it was still there: I just had to scale.
When I dreamt of a dream in my dream, a huge rock from the hill-top tumbled and fell upon my head, knocking me senseless. You can still see me there, at the bottom of the hill: my soul has escaped and my body lies there: senseless, but not dead. It shall wake up once again; once again, when the dream arrives to take me, once again.
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