It's all gone out from you, and you're back in the old bed, another chill winter morning waiting outside the frosty window. There was a moment, but now it is gone. A strange feeling, one you cannot begin to give expression. You're always never here before. That doesn't make any sense. It never makes any sense.
Gone. The fog of dream is lifted, and you're home again, just as you always were. Another chill winter morning. Just a few days 'til Christmas. 1920.