I only remembered bits of it when I woke. It had involved a man, stranger. He’d taken a book of mine and some severed locks that I’d tied up with red ribbon. The book and the hair were linked. It had been part of an art piece. He’d said he would return them soon but I knew that I was to leave soon. I woke with the uncertainty of ever having them back.
They promise sun today and the blue is beginning to break through the white cloud. Wouldn’t that be marvellous?
