My mind has been flitting in and out of some rather strange states today, bordering on a sort of diluted madness, for I've found memories and sensations weaving casually by my mind's eye which fail to align with any experienced events. Finally, after being pulled away from my reading by this perpetual splinter, I've settled on the probability that they must be recollections of last night's (and nights previous) dreams. It is especially difficult to shake them whilst reading any fiction, for, if you're like me, after reading a gripping novel you find yourself narrating life as if you're trapped within it's pages, searching for those loose ends of life to tie, hunting for some plot or romance running through the threads in your carpet. For this reason it could very well be my mind simply manifesting these "familiar" feelings on the spot due to the prompting of a great read. I think that perhaps too much solitude is dangerous, especially for one such as myself, one prone to searching in the dark of night for stimulation with an overactive imagination as her companion. Yet, despite this nagging longing, for what I cannot be sure, I sit here in this cream colored room with my lights dimmed low and fireworks popping outside in the neighbor's yard. The closest adventure I can hope to find being one bound in a paper spine.

If only my heart could manifest those trees I so desire aside a softly beating fire, and yes, a place in which to sleep, cradled gently between two trees. Now that I've begun to rhyme, I see that now has come the time to stop my silly spluttering!