It is one am - again - and her eyes are open. The night is different; the night is still. Of flickers with no form and phantoms with no faces, there are none. It is his face stamped in her mind and teasing her vision. She wonders if perhaps he will appear to right her, to tell her that before was all a dream - or a nightmare - and to remind her of reality. He is her reality. Or so she dreams. He is the ghost that haunts her darkness. The elusive smile in her light.
you're like the dream i can have with my eyes open
exactly how i imagine you would be if i dreamt you to life
with you, i'm not afraid to close my eyes and let go
in my dreams, you always catch me in time
The words mean nothing, for they make no sense to anyone except her and certainly never to him. She dreams on.
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