The ancient Greeks believed dreams enter our sleeping minds like bats to deliver messages from the gods.

I still have vivid dreams that my mother is still alive; I find her sitting at a kitchen table in a tiny house by the sea, living under an assumed name.

The photograph of my mom refuses to leave the auditorium. We jiggle the cords, but she’s still there, twenty feet tall and gazing at the water.

I woke up wondering if I would live my life any differently if I measured my age in days or hours instead of years.

We took a ship through the Finnish archipelago towards a small island in the Baltic Sea.