I started dreaming there were empty rooms — an unknown space that suddenly existed at the turn in the stairs, or if you crouched beneath the mantel of the fireplace. I also dreamed my mother wore a mask, and if you reached to take it off, another one appeared. The empty rooms came back. There’s a gap between at least of twenty years. I feel the potential now of waking up and they’ll still be there, an extension of the default.