No sleep for 48hrs, no food for 44hrs.

Much tired. Much exhausted.

It’s not because I slept so much prior to the 48hrs, or ate normally prior to the 44hrs. It’s because of the recurring dreams and general fatigue—which, strangely, prevents me from falling asleep. I guess there is such a thing as “too tired to sleep.”

Being awake feels like being half asleep anyway. But at least the dreams don’t come.

They’re not scary dreams. They’re beautiful dreams.

Because dream logic bends timespace, the girl is about four and the boy is about three. He’s crying endlessly. Instead of trying to make him stop, they made themselves a nice comfy bed of soft pink flowers on a green meadow. He rests his head on her lap and cries, cries. She pats him on the shoulder, cheek, or head and lets him.

Trees surround the meadow. Trees cradle the meadow, and she cradles him. Sometimes they hold each other’s tiny hands. The sky is perpetually blue and the clouds are eternally fluffy—bright white.

The air is still, but not stagnant. It circulates but not quickly enough to make her hair flutter.

She sings him something. I cannot hear it. For some reason, I hear his teary breathing more clearly. I believe it’s because, even though the scene is in 3rd-person POV, somehow I am also in her head, more than in his head. And, although the song comes out of her mouth, she is paying more attention to what she hears—which is him.

The kids lie/sit there amidst the pink flowers. And that scene revisits me, sometimes several times a night, at other times only once, and rarely never. They’re beautiful dreams, but I wonder when they will cease. I wonder if I put a brake on my sleep, I can stop the dreams. Next time I dream, will I see these kids again?

I am somewhat fearful that they may look at me.