The World Is Grey.

Do you believe in flying?

I've begun to have dreams about the most odd things. My most recent one involved me sitting motionless in the middle of an empty room, staring at a lit candle. The candle never seemed to fall lower, but it was made out of wax and dripped onto the floor. I was alone in this room, but all around me I could hear voices. They whispered. Their words flew through me, never ceasing. The room seemed to be humming with the sheer number of voices. I didn't take my eyes off the candle, knowing full well that I would wake up if I did. I sat there, letting myself fall into trance as I stared at the flickering flame. The voices still whispered, as if their voices were a soft breeze, flowing gently across my skin. I fell deeper.

Do you believe in flying?

Since that night, I haven't been able to sleep more than three hours a night.
The world is grey. My daily comings and goings are chores. I am past drowsiness.
Past exhaustion. This is devastating fatigue.
My days and nights have no distinction. The days have melted together.
I need sleep, or my body will forcefully take it from me.
I hope you can imagine the pain that will cause me.

Do you believe in flying?