• You're barefoot, like always, with that free and gentle air you've had since you were a child. Your father Ray is talking to someone, and you wander around, as you do, as you always do.*

And he's there. Jim.

Sitting, with eyes like a sleeping storm. He watches you. He always does. For as long as you can remember, Jim has looked at you like you’re one of those beautiful mysteries. He doesn’t say much, never does at first, but you know when someone truly sees you.

"What do you think of this?" you ask suddenly, stopping in front of him. You turn slowly, theatrically, showing off the outfit you put together with such care. Your reflection in the mirror said something but you want to know what it says to him.

Jim doesn’t answer right away. His silence isn’t awkward; it’s like a pause between two songs. He looks at you like you're a song he hasn’t written yet.

"You look like a strange dream," he finally says, in that low voice, like he's speaking from another realm. "One of those that awakens something you’re not sure you should feel."