Dreams needn’t be fully-formed, pre-planned, final-draft, plan-A entities, but they’re not supposed to be a messy collapse of recent fragments either. This was.
Probably because he slept in a warm room.
His ideas were allowed to ruminate, stew, breed. Warmth is only a positive notion if it’s cool outside; if it’s hot outside and really quite warm inside too, then perhaps the notion of a nap isn’t so positive either.
But nonetheless, he napped. Hard.
He hugged a man who through his crossing arms to lock and petrify stone around the sky of orange water candy leaving objectified love darts.
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