What was it like the first time someone had a dream? It must be as close to the first time you saw them, you think. Like watching a star grow at a million x speed, then hitting play right before it dies. There is a shore that only became a shore that first time, and then it was just a shore and the edge between ocean and sky indiscriminate. The sinking feeling of change was imminent, because an invisible bridge had now been built and your only choice was to walk through it. How do you walk along the shore if you don’t know where your edges are? Your desires paint them in glitter and stoke them with heat, and you beg the moon to watch over you.