Hannah Kucharzak '13 I wake up and relay my dreams to him, whether or not he sleeps sideways or longways, with me or not, beds are beds and dreams are indiscriminate illusions. I gain sleep tales in handfuls, even awake. They are a number of things because they can be but it pains me to create these stories. I feel as though I am weaving a quilt of fine horse hair or reading tea leaves from a black mug. But one must think up stories, one must shift reality into half-fiction, half-nothing. (Old men do this masterfully, sitting with their pipes and their yellow eyeball-whites, a life made of sidewayses and longwayses with women who did their dreaming for them.) One must always change: these are the destructive images we flash to create behind our globular eyes, the tornadoes ripping through oceans, the lordly tsunamis and the deteriorating New York City wooden houses. I am never tired but I always sleep, always wake changed. Hannah is a palindrome.