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Day 12.

Sunday. Restday. Dreamday.

It’s my watch. You sleep tight, you go, harvest dreams on the other side. Just mind the dream police, just be fast.

And come back to me with handfuls, of tasty stories, of pretty pictures, of sound not of this world.

* * *

And I don’t remember feeling more lonely

Than when my lovers fall asleep first

Before me.

‘I’d rather be alone than next to you asleep.’

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