Memories of things still to come

Memories of things still to come. Awareness of dreams and of the inner sleep cycles. Hopes come accompanied by shrugging my shoulders, because I don't know any different. Hopes don't come at all. I still don't know if you want to sit still on a chair inside my mind or I should throw away all chairs because all you need is space to twirl around, circles of smokes, but nothing is burning yet. All I can do right now is watch the shadows on the wall and regroup.

Silence breathes in and out. Maybe there's a song in this inner noise. Or maybe not. But there will always be silence.

"Without change something sleeps inside us, and seldom awakens. The sleeper must awaken."

Cool