I've just met you, but I know I dreamed about you before. Your face through the lenses I carry and my cold hands touching your heated skin. I felt the hairs – No, you felt me, didn't you? And you know that. You've had the same dream. Now we look at each other without words to convey, erasing by the minute any memories. You know, it's not a semblance of the past, time itself. It's always the future, wich is always the present. A dot and nothing more from what you keep drawing with your sharp pen. A dot, a dot, a dot... A single line around, filling itself.
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