what difference does it make?

i dreamed last night in Prague, so light as to be unbearable. there was a old writer who witnessed the murder of his colleague by the State, and after decades of decay he was bolstered into action. the writer composed a list of forbidden words and went to his wife for a contribution. their marriage was strained by age and infidelity, and he was coming to her now, asking her to join him in the glory they let fade from their youth. she asked him:

what difference would it make?

i do not know the meaning of this, but last night it was difficult for me to fall asleep. i seemed to be stuck in the pause before we got off the phone. i wanted to linger there because i did not know what to say. i felt confused, i feel confused.

i woke this morning thinking of her.