There are nights when I dream of a dark city, abandoned, haunted.

I hear people talking, laughing, running, but I see no one. I hear the flutter of bird wings, the grinding of gears in that far off clock tower, but I see no movement. I feel alone, yet suffocated by the crowd of countless invisible people. They muffle my cries, hide my existence… I know who these people are. They are society.

I see a little girl, dressed in white, transparent, ephemeral… She whispers to me. She beckons to me. I know if I follow her, I will be forever lost in a maze of imaginary fantasies and nightmares. I see the noose around her neck, disguised as a ribbon, and I know what she is. She is hope.

I smell a faint perfume which draws me to its source. That flower of ten thousand layers, gleaming with dew… It stands out against the dark grey cityscape, crimson as fresh blood. The rose invites me to pick it, to prick myself on its endless thorns, staining it an even more vibrant red. However, I see the thorns and I see the wilting petals and I know what that rose is. It is love.

I know. So, I close my eyes and walk through the city, through the people, through the maze, past the flower, to the brink. Looking down, I step into the abyss, because I know what that abyss is. It is reality.

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