// my love exists in the brief amount of time between five and six in the morning //
The surreal instability of a dream.
The reality of our hearts.
Thoughts on desperation, society and futile values
Beyond the end: Commaful postscript the eighth (A wake-up call).
remembering the bad in hand with all that is good in her.
Sometimes challenge. what I feel like when I wake up, sometimes.
Morning stirrings. Wake up
Haiku I scratched down today.
I have always dreamed of something better.