I saw a great thing for which I have no words. It’s magnitude undid me. I should remain silent, for there is nothing I can say, and yet I am compelled to speak. All my words are straw, and as I try to regain my vision, I create falsities. Nothing remains the same when observed, and so to remember is to forget. Happy paradox, I can almost believe the half-truths I mutter. I am haunted, though, by the recollection that these memories are not the memories I once remembered.
Death comes. The light fades. I find the truth in dreams.
Tale Told 