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The brightness pierces her swollen eyelids and causes the tears to turn to faint salty lines that trail down her neck. It’s dark in the room, but the light is relentless in its burning. The dreams consume her most nights, and regardless of how hard she tries to resist the siren call of sleep, it eventually devours her. The dreams are waiting. Pressing down, crushing, and light as air they envelop her. It always starts the same.

She is walking in a field. The wild grass and wheat and weeds, surprisingly soft under her bare feet. …


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When I open my eyes in the early morning light, I stretch. It’s that magical time between awake and asleep, where the fuzzy edges of the dream world lay just out of reach, and the worries of reality have not quite permeated the fog. I wonder what it would feel like to live in this world. Peaceful. Calm. Teetering between nothingness and entirety. A thin beam of sunlight sneaks through the blinds in a determined effort to touch me. Hello old friend.

It caresses my forearm, highlighting the depth of my skin and the constellations of freckles that live there now. I sigh and survey my room, attempting to decide which face to wear today. Faces lay everywhere. …

Kaitlin Cyca

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