Illustration by Papa Pasignasigna
The man sits on a bench nearby and I hear distant noises from trucks and cars passing me by amidst his strong breathing in and out calming my nerves and somehow reminding me that dreams can play tricks on my mind. The city scents are real not exactly perfume I smell during my attempt make sense while I sleep, but awake, I wake to find puzzle pieces I dreamt of on the floor scattered, as well as jumbling scrambled fictions of fixtures sitting on my doorstep. Incapable of separating them from reality ’cause I look back at memory’s past and I wonder if it was all a dream when I debated life’s validity.
