They fade so quickly, when the light comes, that thin line of dawn pressing itself inside my eyes, waking up my senses to the now. My fingers are like the wind on the keyboard, as the words flow from me, the dreams pouring from my mind into the edges of the fingers, evaporating into the mist of the screeen. The grey light grasps at me, pulling me out of the night, the images snapping as if they were elastic under pressure. Still the water sings beneath me, words echoing beyond my sense of self. Still the music runs through my veins, a haunting distant sound, that sits just at the edge of my hearing, coming from within the forest of my mind....

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