Tiny dots of light, tiny specks of life, tiny problems, tiny anger, tiny replies, tiny, tiny all. From a great height it all is distant, thus absent. What if we went down? There is an eternity of sea and that is it. So I would undoubtedly disappear. Absence would remain. As to no one could see me, them all could say, Well, he doesn't exist; and all I have is a vague image of him, right? Has he ever been here? I remember there was a he, yet I also remember my dreams, which some say are just mental phenomena. Hence, either dreams are there, real for the taking, or he is of the same substance, the one of dreams. Tiny dots of light, rushing home, rushing elsewhere. Tiny dots I've left behind, being there, being of dreams. I have been one, not right now, but I'll become one again, a speck of light dreaming life, or living dreams for that matter. I am flying at this moment. For some reason I left my baggage on the ground, and I wonder hard if it shall be there awaiting me, anger in hand, but also packed in smiles.