Stirring. Sweating. Softly tilting. Towards the window. Slightly left ajar. Potted plant to the right. She brought me that from California. Smelling of her hands, wafting her dreams through my eyes. The sun’s trying to disturb my sleep, but I won’t let another day steal my sparkle There’s always another sunrise, but there isn’t another one of her. Uninterrupted, I drift back into my dream. The dream that I lived with eyes wide open.