Isn't the middle of the night our true identity? But how do you come to grips with who you are or aren't? We present a peaceful, vulnerable exterior with the cerebellum churning inside while unconciously breathing in that cool, air-conditioned night air. But the dreams. That is who you are. But I don't know you or your dreams. So, I don't know you. Do you dream in color, in a painted scene yet to be painted? Or do you, like me, dream in conversation, shadowy figures arguing, with you getting the last word, finally, the opposite of real life? Do you fight the fights over and over again? I do. Or, at least, I did.
Now, I sleep peacefully. My nights are calm. I no longer wake myself with shouts or exclamations or gestures toward the ceiling. See, I relived my life in my dreams. I fixed everything. I'm at peace.
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