My routine is out of wack. I tried to wake up at 8 as usual but I can't seem to get up. My body is aching from doing absolutely nothing, I feel so drained. From what you ask. FROM NOTHING. THIS BETTER NOT BE SOME PHYSIOLOGICAL HEARTACHE.
Thinking I was slightly better, I dreamt of you again. Weird. This time around, you sent me an email telling me your number (though you indirectly gave it to me before) and told me to call you whenever, preferably at night. So I keep hesitating waiting until midnight to call you. Once I do, I just can't believe we're on the phone because it's a very intimate and personal thing to do, especially for our case. I think it has to do with me thinking it's done with, but you come and surprise me by wanting to talk, and not just talk but talk.
Remember this one?
"A dream is a wish your heart makes."Oh yeah Disney, well this is what I have to say to you. What if someone precious to you dies in your dreams, is that what your heart is wishing for?! Besides, the psychology of dreams is too complex that nobody can really understand it except if you're the one dreaming it.
....but yes, it is perhaps a wish that my heart is making.
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The title off the top of my head was The Destroyer (which is a bit of a red herring), but the story as it has come out to be (because I haven't gotten to the middle or the end) is merely as Mr. Raincoat Man.
The snippet from the creative story I'm working on.
Written by yours truly -- Me.
On that fine day, Henry and his rain coat was frequenting his favorite coffee joint, which was two blocks from where he lives. Though he never liked coffee, preferring the herbal taste of tea, the coffee shop attracted him instantly on his return from his post office adventure. Henry doesn’t leave his house often, so when he does, it becomes an adventure out of the ordinary. For instance, his post office adventure had him hurdling sewer caps, dodging lamp posts, and breaking-and-entering a federal location by entering through its door. After his close call with the law, he skipped backwards to his house jubilantly but stopped suddenly in front of Marigold’s Coffee Stop Shop. With its pale yellow and lime colored walls and a single marigold imprinted at a lonely corner, Henry was drawn to it like female teenagers drawn to Edward Cullen. But it wasn’t the décor that riveted Henry; it was the vibe, a soft languid aura that meant to heal more than provide.
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