Days have passed since. Fatigue, the kleptomaniac, that aggressively depletes my finite attention-span, is on the loose yet again. On many occasions, I pressed on. Working the body that cries for rest. Eventually, I am on a sleep debt. In perpetuity, the body is damaged again.
Ironically, is sleep itself, that is the impetus to keeps the body going.
After much mundane routine, I finally find myself able to enjoy the company of the bed. I muffled in the sheets, wrestled against the graceful contentment, but I succumb to the overwhelming grip of reassurance. I slept like a baby. As I sink into the comforts of my bed, its almost magic. The very split second that it brings me to the place where Dreams are made, I was confound by restitution. Soon I began venturing into one without much impediment.
I dream, and i dreamt. On the contrary, I didnt want to. For I knew, when I wake up, yet another barrage of ricochets that darts, piercing right through my comfort zone comes after.
Silly me; its ok to dream.
Let Kismet count the ways. For now, dream on my child. Sleep tight and face the imminent new day with greater approach.