Dreaming, such a strange thing.
You sleep, and your mind spins and you see.. smell.. hear
things.. you feel and taste.. you are yourself, but not
yourself. You can race faster than the wind itself or fly.
But, there's nothing that it does for you, if you ask
someone, they'll say it's not important. But until I began
dreaming again, I was weak, tired, drained. I can write
again, I have written again. Dreaming is more than nothing,
more than anyone will admit.
Dreaming is life.