My cotton-cuff drunk up all my tears.

It is still light out this evening. I am writing to you sitting by my bedroom window, the sky is dusky eggshell-blue, peppered with small golden clouds. They all glow from the inside out, as if they are each hiding their own personal sunshines. If I were lucky enough to have my own sunshine, I would protect it too. Sheild it forever and ever. Like love did her dew.
My socks are pulled up to my knees, it is getting to be quite cold. I had a dinner downstairs with Mamma tonight.
Keep having an awful amount of dreams, they change every few minutes, but each dream feels so incredibly long,some nightmares. My sleep makes me sleepy. I dream of ship,a dream of boat, lovedew and her white dress, jibran saying words of love, in uni standing out , I'll wait for you, come back.
You see, I dream of my books so often that I forget where the books end and the dreaming begins. I worry that in years to come, when I remember all the books I have ever read, I won't remember them as they were written down. My dreams will lift the words unwillingly from their pages and replace them with make-believe scenes that only ever exsisted inside my head. The sun never rises in my dreams. Never sets. It is either dusk or dawn, the only light being a dim ochre-glow hidden by a forest. The trees are painted molten. There are shadows, fireflies and pale moons. But not the sun, the sun is never to be seen.
I always have a forest in my dreams. The woods,the stream.



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