In the blinking stardust of a pale blue light, you're coming through to me in black and white.
When we were made of dreams. Midnight's broken toll. Insomnia isn't the appropriate word. When you sleep 14 hours a day to recharge, is it? The moonshiner said that this isn't a dream any more, it's the real thing. It felt foolish but buzzed with it's own charge. We had to stay after that.
They'll tell you to sit there and wait, she'll huddle against you. You'll be stuck with her responsibility after that. She doesn't let them go home. Always always has to be with someone next to her. Run while you can, really. I've seen her walk through the streets that are dead. She walks with thoughts of me in her head. Horrible light, cherry red stars. Felt like the flesh fell off her face, blues wrapped around my head. She talks of Paris, calling it Paree and you think she means fairies.