He speaks of a dream that is so beautiful I almost weep. The way his eyes sparkle as the sun and leaves did in those dreams… the way his brows cloud when the darkness steals upon them… but there is still that certain beauty, that aloofness, that purity that attaches itself to his thoughts while he speaks. I wonder why he’s telling me this, why he’s choosing me, out of all people, to be his confidant. What is the significance? he asks. I, too, want to ask him, what is the significance? He answers without me having to ask. I don’t know why I tell you this, he says to me. Do you ever dream like this? I shake my head. It has been a long time since I have dreamt. A long time since I have actively tried to remember what I had dreamt about. I know that I subconsciously want to go back to sleep because I want to finish that dream but…

Then I awaken and it’s gone. Poof. Like smoke.

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