Monday, 26 December 2011
My bed is a hotspot to think about my fancy, to indulge in my many imaginations; when I sleep to conjure up my dreams of tomorrow. The moon shines her jovial face, granting graceful lights to all outside; but I care not for her. For I am inside my room, darkness occupying my air so as to be at peace with my imaginations and my fancy - to think nourishing thoughts of sweet fantasy which is far from my reality. I recline and smile closing my eyes for the next hours excited by the vision which will take me away to a far away place where I is king of my own world and may do and have as I please. Do not worry dear reader; the nature of my dreams is as that of the sunrise, lighting up the dusk which reality mean-fully decorated. I in a melodic ease caress my brush lightly as a feather upon a dark coloured scene, setting free the caged birds, erasing the shadows of past hurts and draw happiness as a vivid hue that cannot be removed. Oh dear reader I am in love with my bed; many of my fellow creatures apprehend me not when I speak of my bed in the day - my heart longs for the night as a man for his virgin bride. I hope you understand me dear reader, I long for you to feel my sensations and my longings. My heaven is my bed for it is there I close my eyes and dream, colouring my reality with colours light and joy unending.