There was a dream, an island in the sea of sleep. There was a dreamer who woke. He was a great dreamer, and his island remains though he does not.
There was a story, a meaning lost somewhere, an ending never quite reached. A sentence without a period.
As he built his island, he looked upon his unfinished work and proclaimed, “I remember now,” for he had seen in his creation the truth of what he sought.
The dream was not the thing, and his island, which nearly was the thing, is unfinished; he awoke, to find the thing itself.
Tale Told 