I recently dreamed that the ghost of a woman who used to live in my apartment visited my bedside. She told me her name was
Marguerite. She proceeded to ask me about my life as she
rifled through my belongings. "What are you looking for?" I asked. "My destruction," she said. I asked her to define "destruction." She
smirked. "It depends on what end of the pen you're looking at it from."