I should probably start getting ready for the job, I say to myself, but my mind is still looping around the dream I had last night. Arachnids, spiders more precisely, I think. They were black. Then I started kissing someone when suddenly a piece of sharp bone grew out from the tip of the tongue and hurt me. I do not normally bother trying explain my dreams to myself because no matter how bizarre they are, the feeling in them is always obvious and revealing to myself, merely intensified and stripped of camouflage.
Lately, I see my compulsory character more clearly. I have to repeat playing the same piece of melody again and again (which is still playing), and yet, every time the violin stings my head. Like a broken gramophone. There seems to be nothing involving or progressing but the same flow of water bursting out repeatedly with the rising and falling of the melody, but then something hit me, a rip in the white shirt. I became alert because again, remembering wanted to catch me and it succeeded. She would show up, elegant and stunning, especially in the black dress for the summer or the brown leather jacket for the winter, but sometimes she would come in in a casual T shirt with a cartoon figure on it. Sometimes her hair seemed not combed at all. And she turn back, there was a rip on the left (or the right?) shoulder of her shirt, a position near the back where she could hardly notice by herself. I wanted to say to the one next to me that it was so sweet and cute, but instead, I bit my lower-lip to repress the smile. Now when I think about that small rip on her shoulder, I laugh, wondering if she would keep that shirt and brought it to the lake.
