You do not want to see the moment her life leaves her body, irretrievably gone, and so you retreat to the edges of your dream, behind dream-walls and around dream-corners.
Now afraid to sleep, you lie staring for hours until you are roused by a call from the front desk. There is a delivery for you, a package, it is the notebook you left on the airplane, the airline found it and has mailed it to you. You turn to the last written pages, hoping to find a record of your dream of the week before, a dream to chase away this dream, but there is nothing. You only dreamed that you’d written it down. Perhaps you only dreamed that you dreamed it. If this is what your dreams are like, you are glad to forget them.