This is a placeholder for a dream account. A sad, strange, beautiful, disturbing, perplexing yet uncommonly revealing dream I had last night about an ailing author.
The dream has been on my mind all day. Unusual of late, I can recall the story in tremendous detail from start to finish.
Earlier in the previous day before the dream, I had picked up the cremains of my beloved cat-companion. I brought home her ashes in a little wooden box.
At least for now, I'm not ready to fully transcribe either story.
"It's getting late," he said.
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