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“I think Dalí might’ve hated art critics.”
We both laugh, but I’m self-consciously aware of Arthur’s continued study of me.
I wonder if he’ll think my choosing this was glaringly on the nose, seeing as how the image relates to time, Einstein’s theory of relativity, and the end of the idea of a fixed cosmic order. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter what Arthur thinks of my choice, though. For me, having this piece in my room feels like a necessity.
Much like Braxton choosingNarcissus, if I can look at this painting every morning when I wake up and every night before I go to sleep, then maybe I can manage to hang on to the memory of what happened that night at Arcana—maybe it’ll help me remember there’s a whole other world outside these walls.
Because the longer I stay here at Gray Wolf, the more I’ve come to suspect that Memory Fade doesn’t just happen while Tripping—it happens here, too.
The heady combination of extreme comfort and luxury, combined with the monotony of routine, makes the days blend so seamlessly, it’s easy to forget which world I truly belong in.
And that’s what scares me the most.
By the time I get back to my room, I find a folded note slipped under my door.
Sorry I’ve been kinda distant. I have an early morning Trip tomorrow, but let’s talk later when I return.
I’m ready to tell you now.
Song
