Dreams were unfettered, fleeing. It had been ages, since I last mind-wandered this way, unrestrained. Locked away, some swept under the carpet, the soul was inertial, wasn't pulled one way or another. There was tranquillity. It's easy to see, there is no growth without agony, without reaching out and falling. I'd rather bleed and tear, then never.
I dreamed about writing a book, falling in love...
Immerse in a book, contemplate a word, each a different world through a keyhole. At the moment of waking, the beauty transcendent, yet enigmatic.
I was awake - suddenly, an ephemeral stirring, awake and dreaming.
Now it's back to reality, cold and unyielding as stone. And I slumber.