Ghosts
Sleep doesn't find me here. Laying in bed listening to the fountain in the courtyard, too tired to go out but too restless to find slumber. So I write. Write about the pst, write about the present, write about the future. I do look forward to the sun rise, watching the soft glow peak in through the balcony shutters. But the next hour spent in bed with nothing but my thoughts makes me long for an escape into my dream world. Alas, with an imagination such as mine I can create far greater fantasies awake.