let me tell you a secret â sometimes i think this might all be a bad dream. every now and then, when the world is quiet enough, when the yellow light hits the ceiling just right, i feel like a child again. sometimes i wish i could find the spot where time is the weakest, touch it, tear it apart, and wake up on the sofa, behind my parentsâ backs where iâve crawled after some nightmare. from the tv, a laugh track. iâm pretending to sleep. itâs summer. see, the balcony door is ajar. see, thereâs a mosquito trying to get in. see, my heart isnât aching. see?














