It's the feeling of never wanting a dream to end, desperately trying to go back to sleep hoping that your dream would somehow pick up where it had left off.

But you know very well that it won't. First you'll forget the details. What shirt you were wearing, the exact words you said or wanted to say. Her hand on your palm that felt so tangible just a few seconds ago, reduced to a cold sensation that served as nothing…

For sale: baby socks. Never worn.

There is no sun, natural light died along with the people's memory of it, now the lights have lives of their own, they've learned to speak in such soothing voice, to feel and to love more than a human ever could. The sky itself is a myth, there's only tall buildings and taller buildings, protruding out from the pervasive fog like the tail of a slumbering monster. Is that why everyone speaks in whispers?…