I had a dream that I had the perfect opening line for a novel.
This sentence led to other beautiful sentences and in my dream, I could feel the novel just writing itself.
I can’t remember it of course, that perfect opening line.
I have thought before that I should keep a notebook by my bed.
But my guess is that the dream was just that: a dream.
There is no perfect sentence that leads to other perfect sentences.
There is only the long walk down a dark hallway.
Every once in a while, there is the startling, dazzling light of an open door.
And then the door closes again.
And you just keep walking forward.
I know that.
But still, I wonder what that line was.

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