perchance, to dream...ay there's the rub; for in that sleep of death what dreams may come... the bard
cruel.
to want to sleep, just to be near your whisper of a ghost. your make believe breath, warm and comforting...dissipates with the sound of the alarm. red red. and poof you're gone again. real seconds, real minutes turn into real hours and days...years, and a lifetime. and yet all i want to do is dream.