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(Book IV)

Book IV
Book 4

Probably the Dreamer would have explored this new world as best he could. It’s always wise to make the best of your situation. At least that is what I’ve been taught to do. The Doctor says that in my condition it’s best to busy myself. She thinks it will uncover some memories. And I do try, if only for her. But to be honest, the most beautiful thoughts come to me just walking in the park, when I’m not doing anything at all. They come with no schedule, they have no rush to disappear, just like honeybees visiting a flower. The Doctor doesn’t agree. She stays inside all the time instead. But I wonder why: indoor flowers never get visits from honeybees, do they?

I think the Dreamer, just like me, must have liked to walk, too. It couldn’t have taken him long to explore reality, though. Reality was not so big compared to his world of dreams. This new world seemed small and unhappy. It was so limited – but limited not by his imagination, not by his desires or thoughts. Instead, it was bound on all sides by time and memory.

The sun circled the Dreamer again and again. Almost apologetically, it rushed forward and higher, arcing in the sky under the reins of time. Time is a stubborn thing, don’t you think? It always moves forward. It never stumbles, even for a second. It doesn’t take any breaks, it doesn’t make any mistakes, and it makes no exceptions for anybody. Time pushed the Dreamer forever forward. It bruised him. It made him cry even more.

Time alone was not the Dreamer’s problem. Certainly it was strange for the Dreamer to see the sun come and then leave him – but it was more cruel to make him remember it. Without memory, time wouldn’t be so bad. After all, if you can’t remember yesterday, then you don’t need to worry that yesterday is already gone. Because of memory, the Dreamer began counting the days, just like the Doctor does. Each quiet moment caused him to remember his lost world of dreams. Memory can sometimes be a fate much worse than death.

Yet I’m sure that each day the Dreamer continued to widen his eyes, to see all that he could of this corruptible world. At the same time that he dearly missed his dreams, there must have been a lot of beauty in this world that confused him. There was something dear here, too. Certainly I can see many beautiful things in this world. I’m sure you can, too, Reader.

The Dreamer must have paused in awe as well. While reality was rigid, it did change – just slowly, and in a way difficult to see with his eyes. These gradual movements were the unmistakable footprints of time. He began to love the calm of sunrise. He waited expectantly for daytime. There was the wind and the water. And, of course, his Echo. He felt some happiness, despite himself. Yet the Dreamer could not find a way to express his thoughts.

Reader, have you ever felt this way? You see something wonderful, but there are no words to express it. I wonder if you know how happy I am that you are reading this. You must really want to be friends. I only wish I could tell you all this in words a little more pretty.

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