I had a dream that I went to sleep and woke up a year later. At least I think it was a dream. Things have become rather confusing in Stansbury as of late and while I have not been able to document i all properly, I have been trying to keep up. Sometimes I look around and the town is full of everyone I know and other times it seems all but empty. Everything at the same time, as if time had no meaning at all and what happened then is happening now and will happen soon.
What I do know is that I have not written anything here in some time, but what I have written here in the past will be here tomorrow as it was yesterday and what I write today and tomorrow will seem as if it has been here all along. And isn't that the best part of writing and reading? All writing exists at the same time always. All stories, all words, once written, have always been there as far as the reader is concerned. This post that you are reading now may be dated for the day I am writing it, but you may come to it a month from now on the same day that you first come to a poem written by William Blake in 1789, such as "The Lamb." Now while you may know that my post did not exist in 1789, it does not matter to your experience with either this post or Blake's poem. For you, they exist at the same time and, for all intents and purposes, always have.
If you come back again, there will be more words that will have always been here...
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