I died that day
That's what no ever says about being reborn
Death comes first
Now that bit of trivial sophist in me wants to present an alternative: hot cicadas bursting through the heat I am transported to yet another dream. I am on the Mediterranean. In linen, water on a balcony with lemons floating, the pitcher the breeze carry the weight of summer.
A car rumbles and a motorbike revs into a halt. The spell is broken and I am carried by the sound as the bike accelerates into the horizon. Carrying me in the waves of sound.
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