Memories of a faraway world would visit me at random:
in the middle of the night, as I prepare to sleep tending my broken wrist with oriental herbs so that the next moment’s slumber would be painless, or simply less painful that how it would have been
dreams from some yesterday would come about in my mind.
How in my normal bed where I sit in the midst of darkness another layer of reality surrounds me. In this layer is of vivid moments in a world same as ours except things there had never happened here. There I’ve had adventures with people whose names I do not know, nor faces if I try to really think about each detail,
and yet with them I’ve survived several close calls with the Reaper. There I’ve solved
problems that this reality could not make manifest, and I remember running through rooms and corridors as if I’ve lived in the place where they are ever since, though now that I am still awake I cannot even bring to mind what the city they are in is called.