Last night I dreamt that I was standing in the living room of my old house. I couldn't see my parents or brother but I was very conscious that they were close by, perhaps right in front of me. Everything was blurry, but I knew it was my old living room from the way it felt to be standing in it. In the dream there was a sense of sadness because I was dying. I was choking on a long strand of thick paper that was stuck in my throat. The paper was folded in little pieces, with a word on each segment. I was trying to pull out the paper as fast as i could so that I could breathe again but i already knew I wasn't going to be fast enough. There was too much paper and too little time.
I felt myself disconnecting from myself, the way a kite must feel when the string that tethers it suddenly slips from the fingers of the child holding it...there was no blame and no real sense of regret, there was merely the passing over from form to formlessness, something that seemed so scurry in books and movies but was really close to nothing, like the sound of a flag flapping or a word turning into a sigh.