The Desolate

Last night I had a dream that took me to the desert. There was this dry flat that was covered in bees. One of the bees landed on my arm, but did not sting. It fell to the ground and I tried to help it up, but it could not fly. I was then in a ski village that was buried in snow. I could not see the sky from the whiteness. Many of you were there with me. We all lived in a cabin at the top of a hill. Two of you spoke of life and death, and the short, precious time in between. You found yourselves, you were invincible. I wanted to embrace life like you, but I could not. Something blocked my way, and I was hounded by loneliness.

"A person starts to live when he can live outside himself." -Albert Einstein