As I drift slowly back from sleep to wakefulness, I become aware of my head resting against the sloping surface of a wooden drafting table. I can see the strange light outside of the open french doors from a kind of diffuse grayish-blue twilight sky infused with rain. The sound of the rain and its smell coming in with the light breeze slowly seeps into my consciousnes. I let it soak in for a few moments. Looking around with my eyes, head still resting on the table, I see that I am in a small sparely furnished room. There is a mostly empty bookshelf in the corner. A few feet from the desk is a couch facing the open french door. I can see the wet wooden railing on a balcony outside. I try to recall what is outside the room, to remember the view from the balcony, but my mind draws a blank.
Pushing back against the table with my hands, I find that I am sitting in a leather swivel office chair with rollers. I must have fallen asleep against the drafting table. I lean back against the chair to study the table. On the bottom left, there is an upright purple fountain pen in a quaint gold pen-holder with an engraved black base. A bottle of indigo ink stands beside the pen. On the top left are a sheaf of loosely bound papers and a brown leather journal. To the right of where my head was resting moments ago, there is a single sheet of thick off-white paper folded in half under an ornate jade paper weight. Hanging on the wall opposite the french doors there are a few detailed topgraphic maps mounted in solid brown frames. I stare at the maps for a while. Most of them are of beach-front properties. They look vaguely familiar.
I close my eyes and lean back further against the chair, trying to recall where I am and what I am doing here. Nothing comes to mind.
Eventually I give up and reach for the folded sheet of paper...
"I have long been gone, my love. It has long been over."
I stare at the page for a while. I cannot tell if it is my handwriting or not.