Day 56

I'm trying to recall something. A secret.
It's important to remember secrets told to you.
You keep secrets. Some may argue that a secret not remember makes it safer than if you had remembered it.
But forgetting and keeping are entirely different things. It's important to keep the distinction.
The secret I was to keep was whispered to me while I lay sleeping as a child.
The minds of children make for amazing message keeping, but you must record it in them while they sleep.
For then the mind matter absorbs and buries the knowledge within the still forming surfaces of the brain.
The day I was born, I was told a secret.
It was whispered to me as I lay sleeping.
Ingenious really.
My mind didn't yet know how to dream, so it hadn't any opinion or idea of what to dream on: so the words whispered to me became the only thing I knew. For my first dream, I was what i was told.
And just as the landmasses of my mind began to shift and split apart, so too spread the seeds of what was said.
Some nights, if I am lucky, a clue will come to me in my dreams. These clues are delivered to me.
By a special kind of messenger.
A figure I don't quite recognize, but whose features I can see clearly.
This person's appearance is made up of everyone that has been in my periphery when monumental moments were recorded to memory.
The waitress working the night of that disastrous date. The student in front of me as I accepted my degree.
The bystanders from ... that night ...
The features from all of those people are recombined into a mosaic of a person and this mosaic of a figure approaches me. The mosaic messenger comes without menace and their smile is genuinely pleasant.
I am not scared of this person. I am momentarily struck by seeing a person in my dream I have no feelings nor opinions towards. But I have yet to be disturbed by them.
I find them novel.
When first we met, it was near the end of an entire life time, lived in a single night.
I had built a home, housed a village, prevented a war and saved a forest from burning.
I'd also helped a family find their dog and child, and they were all about to live happily ever after.
However, just before I the feelings associated with realizing your life was all a dream could flood in, she appeared.
In this instance she was a she - and she said nothing.
She smiled and took my hand.
When she did this the sky's color faded, giving way to a dull pattern-less white surface.
The dream was leaving and my vision was becoming that of a pale bedroom wall seen through eyes opened only a sliver.
With her hand in mine, she leaned forward and whispered into my ear something ... indecipherable.
She stood tall, squeezed my hand and then blended into my bedroom wall.
The last thing I see before waking, is what she left in my hand:
A note in sharpy, written upon my palm.
Can you keep a secret?