In my case sleep renews and strengthens my resolve to go and see the world for more than dreams. It’s only at mid- afternoon that horrors stir and leisurely creep in. The world remains the same while I turn mean. You see through what it is at once, by morning’s vaunt and wake up slow, laconic, despondent at the world (that chain mail that you don) what it demands or wants. For you it’s at midday that on some fluke you deem to join the fray. Between such opposites our coffee steams across— cloud cover for a vale of scattered dreams. We talk above this land and nod as night’s impressions dim and empty out like streams. Replaced by arid worries, work and schemes.
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