witty-remark's Diaryland Diary

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These days, I wake from a restless sleep to the sound of rain pounding sharply against the tired wood of my patio, or drizzling lightly off the brim of our roof, and in my slumberous haze, I think my dreams have escaped my mind to be squeezed from the clouds in drops that fall heavily on the landscape outside.
It's that transitional moment, what feels like an eternal blur, where you grapple with the surreality of reality as you hunch your shoulders and let your dreams roll off your back like a silk sheet slipping past your skin.

4:37 p.m. - Thursday, May. 14, 2009

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