A curse

Today I curse you; that you may encounter on your chosen path a stranger with whom you will rest and talk at length under a pin-holed firmament ablaze with destiny. He will make you drink his poison and put you to sleep; beseeching you to awake soon, for the hour of journey is at hand. The potion shall make you dream of phantasms in which you are one again, before the time the mirror cracked and scattered you across the night sky of oblivion. But then you shall awake at dawn, or late in the afternoon when the sun lies aged on the moss, to find the stranger gone, the taste of his poison fading. With a leaden heart you shall resume your travels. But your scurrilous phantom-selves will haunt you to weariness, smirking that you believed in their corporeality in the innocence of your slumber, demanding of you the conquest of that lost realm of unity.