Waking Dreams (Written July 25, 2013)
I sit and in the silence there,
Where quiet whispers like a prayer,
A million little dreams are born
And settle down to die once more.
You know, I’ve mentioned it before, but I am an insomniac. Sleep is hard for me. I sit in my bed and try to fall asleep, but I end up spending the frist two or three hours just staring at the ceiling and thinking. It doesn’t bother me much anymore. Really, you adjust and get over it. But, because of it, I end up thinking an aweful lot. About everything. About the person I wish I could be, the place I wish the world was, the friends I wish I had, and things like that. It is a bit of a blizzard of fragmented desires blowing around in the flurries made by my own confusion. Like snow flakes, though, each different dream is doomed to melt the minute I get my hands on it. =) It is, despite how maddening it might sound, pleasant. -.^ If my classmates and cohorts really find me to be unfathomable it is probably because they don’t know what it means the lay awake when the rest of the world sleeps, and to dream a million different dreams that only the silence keeps.
Nobody has answered my riddle yet! I’m about to give up on it, but I figured I would throw it out there one last time.
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