This is my dream.
I sit in a big room with lots of tables and cheap looking chairs with short backs and fake leather caked all around them. My teacher sits down and reads my paper making marks with his bloody pen. Misplaced commas, silent words, and construed theme. Pointing to each little mark, he explains the mistake. I sit and listen, looking at the black, white, and red painting. He stops and begins to pack up his briefcase. "How does it feel to be single your whole life." He turns and looks at me with a plain face, some completely and totally truthful. "It feels quite terrible." He turns back to his briefcase, packs everything up and leaves the room. I sit with my paper in the quite of that cheap room. Nothing comes in, nothing passes by. Through the window I see the wind blowing, just blowing.


This is my whisper.
I slept on my couch last night and did not brush my teeth.