Moments deep in the night, just before I’m left to sleep, I dream of things past and their coming days, an impossible proposition. I dwell on tasks I’ve yet to take on, I fret over perils of a distant past still full in view, and through this all courses the vitality of my being and thoughts of one I love. What of dreams can be trusted? They lie ever in wait, the word in that sense reveals both edges of a sword such as this; insomuch that they are merely a lie, yet strong enough in their conviction that they have nothing to do but wait, as we succumb one and all to the need for sleep, returning to these unsolicited musings. These thoughts, the visions of an empty world, they shape the time we keep under lock and key, under spell of dream we are not alone, our greatest fears enrage us, our darkest fantasies enliven us, even as we set our best attempts and intentions against the outside world (keeping it outside our door) we cannot avoid who we are, even if we are unfamiliar with that pe...
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