"For this reason I say, if one is whole, one will be filled with light, but if one is divided, one will be filled with darkness."
Fragments. Mere fragments. A shore of memories, phantoms dispersed from the past; violently embedded into the flesh. The detonated grains, remnants of her. An infinitesimal handful of specks, bits undiscernable to any sort of eye. Slipping, falling, cascading between the long fingers of a tempered glass. Carefully and meticulously laboured on, plucked from the receding tide. Portions of what was lost, raked into a pile; an unsortable mass. Reflection. Hmmm, like sand, where does one begin and where does one end to form a whole; a castle? Less than nothing solid to stand upon; so quick to sink into its depths. Query. How does one polish what one can not compile? An un-image of glass and stone. Ponder. Imagination... Yes! Clarity. Cast it with the macines of madness; tempered in imagination. Reimagine, remember, relive through a different life of illusion and halucination. Existing materials will slowly make brand new memories of what had already been done... Proud. This idea seems just crazy enough to work.
A handful of magic sand, cast aloft into the storming mind, becomes so easily carried away by the currents. Dancing sparks begin to crackle, charge headlong into the fragments. Chance seeding chaos, a re-awakened life takes, and begins to grow anew. Real and unreal as one, nurturing with time.
So much work to do. Slowly appeasing reason, tending it; overburdened with dreams and sifting time. Sigh. At least, maybe now the Sandman will talk with me again; I tire of the empty dark...
