Last night I had a dream that I spent the night at your house, in one of the many vacant rooms I remember seeing the first time I visited. But when I got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, I couldn't find my room again. The whole layout of the house had changed, but I wasn't scared. I was just annoyed.
I kept looking in all of these rooms on different levels of the house, and in every one there was a computer on a desk whose screen lit up the room. Each of these computers was on a different poet's website or blog. They were all poets I'd never heard of, and after thinking about it I decided that they probably weren't real people at all, and that the poems featured on their pages hadn't been written yet. I read a poem by one of them that I liked a lot, and decided to steal it, since I wouldn't really be stealing it from anyone. I didn't bother writing it down, since it was so good and its imagery so unique and memorable I had already memorized it.
I ended up sleeping in a different room, too happy about my new poem to care that I was in a strange new room, then found you after waking up in the morning. The layout had changed again, and was close to, though not exactly, its original state. You had no problem showing me to my original room, then you rushed me down the stairs, and in every room we passed there were young women and their mothers getting ready for the wedding that afternoon.