prose… but poetry?

Time is a sea, breaking upon the shore of this moment; and with every ripple, with every wave, I remember.
I dream.
A tale unfolds, rising out of the mists. My story overflows before me. Ripple after ripple.
Sometimes when I think of that place and my journey and the things that happened to me in that land, it all seems so real, so true. Other times, everything seems like a distant dream. The images overlap and blur across each other like a pile of leaves that the wind is slowly blowing away.
I look around and tell myself that this — this — is real. Here is where I am. Now is when it is. And yet… somehow the past gets tangled up with the present. I wonder if time means anything anymore.
Sometimes the scenes from the story seem like only a moment left over from a nightmare, lingering on the edge of my awareness and then simply fading away. Sometimes my dream seems like an entire lifetime. And this is how it began…

Prologue to Quest for Celestia, a reimagining of The Pilgrim’s Progress, by Steven James.

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