dreamland
sometimes I wonder if the strangers in our dreams exist in real life.
those anonymous faces, their appearance improvised so quickly and woven into our sleepy thoughts by our subconscious.
maybe if you traced the miles of power pylons, hopped across the oceans using oil rigs as stepping stones, you’d find your stranger.
swaddled in duvet too.
the anonymous face printed onto their twitching eyelids your own.
