Last night I remember bits and pieces.
I don't remember calling everyone in my phone contacts, picking up to my father, telling him about the children running around when we were in an abandoned parking lot, going home, getting into bed, walking through the ravine, buying orange juice, thinking.
I don't remember getting bruises everywhere.
I don't remember having Sam written on my hand.
I don't remember huge gaps, and it freaks me out that they even happened. There's no logic.
I remember finding another world, and I can't ignore it now.