short time memory of a dream frame

inside the mesmerizing control of life I found a letter filled with chaotically drawn letters.
while I was staring at this strange lettered sudoku, words started catching shape and form and even creeped their way into complete sentences.
the subject was always somebody else while I was the object.
so I let the letter be and turned to the principle: time is a well shaping artist that provides sense with time.
and it did.
I reopened the letter some years later.
all the letters were there.
only this time they were driving sentences like racing pilots drive their winning cars.
the verbs were missing, but this time I was both subject and object.
I had failed where sense and actions were concerned, but at least I knew it was about me.
I folded the letter carefully so I wouldn't get any paper cuts.
I sat down and confronted my conscience and for the first time it was scared of what i might think.
I didn't have much to say, though:
I'm not judgmental: I like green.