somnvs:

_{Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool?}

_{“Yes, sir? No, sir! You’re not my sir!”}

_{The connoisseur of her mind amidst slumber, he never fails. He? She? It’s a voice of a man for sure, and so familiar. Although she’d rather this entity be they since they’re essentially in a form more than one in number, soaring freely where she’d lock out many from her reality. It was frustrating going through days trying to convince her mind sleep was needed and then convincing it again of the opposite in about 3 or 4 hours later. Not only frustrating — exhausting.} 

_{What’s more, she had the habit of forcing herself back to sleep whenever a dream, a nightmare even, doesn’t result in a fulfilled end. Never give up, never surrender. At least not until the mix of frustration and exhaustion melts into resolve; feeling blessed and alleviating stress, persevering and passing all the tests. Achievement is a good friend. In the absence of such a friend, takes away time. In which time becomes no more of a thief as opposed to how she liked to believe.}

_{She’s finally starting to get them better than before as she’d sleep through nightmares for a millennium, all the same in the bloodshed she preferred seeing anywhere but where it appeared which soaked her heart in mourning on those she had no knowing of. Dreams come in fruition, feeling limitless and ecstatic ‘til her cranium, just as her everyday was spent ebbing from her consciousness with a genuine smile on her face. All nights spellbound with love’s composition. Though it still leaves her restless, this clear sight without eyeballs, creating in the center of her mind an emptiness so still. Days she’d wished she was a deep sleeper like her lover.} 

_{She didn’t like the long days going by, clocking in, keyed up with thoughts in the back of her mind she could only imagine to be irrelevant to distract her from work. It wasn’t worth her time, the perfectionist says. And she does say so because, even with little significance, the looming sense of failure haunts her with the thought that the loss of memories couldn’t be retrieved even if she pulled a dreamer’s hand to directly fish it out underneath the pocket of dust in her closet. At the end of the day, she could only wish and maybe chant before retiring for the day, “Please let me remember. Please, please, please!”}

_{If she does remember, she’ll fight it. No one controls her in her sleep. No one controls her other than herself. Whoever dares, they’ll be out of place. This was her resting place. What makes sense to her is what it should be. It’s the constitution in the world she’d built. “You’re not my sir! I am your sir. Give me my wool!”}