Dream Generator

You are standing in a city made entirely of forgotten names. You're in the space between waking and sleeping.

There is a musician playing an instrument that doesn't exist yet. They look at you as if they've been waiting, though not impatiently. Time works differently here. They gesture toward a bell that rings in colors instead of sounds.

"This belongs to you," they say, or perhaps they don't say it—perhaps you simply understand. "It always has."

Words you speak become visible, floating like soap bubbles.

You turn around, and the entire world has rearranged itself.

Now you find yourself in a bridge that connects two different versions of the same place. The a musician playing an instrument that doesn't exist yet is here too, or perhaps they never left. In dreams, presence is not about location.

You realize you are still holding a bell that rings in colors instead of sounds. It feels right in your hands—the exact weight of something important, the precise temperature of truth.

The a musician playing an instrument that doesn't exist yet smiles—or maybe the light changes in a way that means the same thing.

You are the dreamer and the dream and the space between

You open your eyes—

But did you?