Daisies

I notice that the whispers rarely try to speak to me anymore. Sometimes I miss their ominous presence. Sometimes I sit on the floor in complete silence, before screaming, just to break the quiet. It is a lonely place here in the white room.

And for the first time I want to get out.

I glance over at the window, wondering if the voices will come when I try to climb out of it. I look back down at the floor, too tired to try. Too lazy to stand.

Is this the effect of not sleeping?

I'm afraid. I don't want to dream anymore. Libby scares me. It's quite ironic when I think about it. I scare myself. Hah.

I continue to finger the clear wrapper of my precious bouquet. The daisies peer up at me behind their leaves. They are my best friend, my only friend. It feels so unnatural, but everything feels unnatural here.

I'm trying to decide if I should sleep again or not. I want to see the boy, he is a great comfort to me, and I feel as if he is my only tie to reality from this strange world. But what is reality? Maybe I already am in reality. Maybe I am already dead. Either way, I feel like I have a bond with this boy. But he does not seem to feel the same. He has never spoken to me, and I have never even seen his face.

But I also never want to see Libby again. That garden of daisies was real. It was very real, and I know that Libby is real.

So I must have once been in reality. I must have once known the boy, and maybe even the woman I saw before, in the grassy field.

I want to know them again.

I want to dream again.