The lines between truth and fiction are blurred; as a dream should be.

You are tired,
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.
Come with me, then,
And we’ll leave it far and far away–
(Only you and I, understand!)
You have played
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and–
Just tired.
So am I.
But I come with  dream in my eyes tonight,
And I knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart–
Open to me!
For I will show you the places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect places of Sleep.

ee cummings

Even reality is a dream sometimes. Each caress, touch, kiss is just a figment of a moment. But in those moments the only thing that feels real is you. The epitome of how perfect we are together is not captured in the insatiable desire, and completely open & generous way we make love; it’s not in the sense of humour, the friendship,  and the friendships we share; It’s not in the way we bend to each other, the way we sacrifice for each other, and can’t let go of each other. The freedom we feel together, when we are locked away from the world, when our whole world consists of each other and a room, is not it either. The best evidence of our perfect togetherness is the way we fall asleep together. The way your arm fits around my neck, and I scratch your head and we feel so sated and satisfied and want for nothing else in the universe that we fall into the deepest slumber.

We’re tired now of pretending, of fighting ourselves. Come now… let us fall asleep together, and save our energy for another day, another fight. It’s us against the world. But right now, let’s sleep.