Endurance

Soon landscapes become dreamscapes and places once familiar grow warped in the realm of dreams. Sounds turn to song; what were once voices and musings long-forgotten now return as distant lullabies that kiss our ears on an evening breeze. I once thought memory was a reliable thing, but now I realise that though they are true, truth and reliability are not the same. I cannot say for certain now if old corridors and shafts of sun were as I remember them to be, or if they have already grown labyrinthine in my dreams. What remains when the ages pass—houses turned to dust, creatures turned to sand—what endures? “The thing that remains for ever after”—I am searching for it still.