In a perfect world sleep would be plentiful.. renewing.. and a place where dreams shape the soul. For me sleep.. is a mystery.. despotic. Dreams.. they are like hateful phantoms in the night..coming only when they sense weakness.. and leaving only the pain of unrequited desire and regret in their wake. so if you would wish well of me.. wish for sleep.. as you would have..or wish me no more.. for if rest is what waits us as we quit this coil of the waking world.. then let it come.. let me sleep.
When this was written, I was in the most dark of places. I was well within the journey of writing 10,000 Sleepless Nights, and had lost my way, both with the work and my life.
As I look back, It is important for me to remember that though it may be just as bad now in hindsight…
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