[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/Qt9DFLQ.gif[/img][/center]
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[center][color=seagreen]Imagine.

You fall asleep.
In the stream of dreams
You float along and
Away drift your memories.

You forget the bad that happened,
You forget what weighed you down,
You forget your doubts and worries,
The reasons why you frowned.

You forget those who wronged you,
You forget what they have done,
You forget what has already ended
And what has just begun.

The stream picks up speed.
You cannot swim ashore.
The flow is unending
As you lose more and more.

You forget those who loved you,
You forget what was before,
You forget who you are and
What you are for.

Then it ends.
You wake up and blink.
There is nothing left anymore.
You don't know what to think.
 
This is your life.
Every morning you wake,
You start all over again
With a blank slate.[/color]

—Daimyon Londe: Tabula Rasa[/center]

The morning announcement came abruptly, jolting Daimyon out of a dream. It was so sudden, in fact, that he forgot almost the entirety of his dream right away, only retaining bits and pieces. The centrepiece of it, he could still recall, was a white swallow. As he sat up on the bed and reached for his notebook—reading the first page for a start, as he had done every morning—, he wrote down what he remembered from his interrupted dream. There he could see that the swallow was a reoccurring element and wondered about the bird's significance. Time was short, however, and he knew that he had to address much more important concerns first. Flipping to the most recent pages, he started reading his entries in backwards chronological order.

It took a while, but the poet finally felt ready to embark on the day. After showering and getting dressed, he set out, notebook and e-handbook both in hand. His destination was the break room at the other end of the first floor where he could get some breakfast. He was also hoping to meet some of the new arrivals whose profiles had just been added to the system. Other than these vague goals, though, there was not much on his agenda today. As he walked through the hallway in silence, a sort of serenity descended on him. Yesterday's tragedies felt like a distant memory, the concert preparation that had engulfed the previous days even more so. There was nothing good and nothing bad pressing down on him at the moment. It was certainly a strange feeling.