it's snowing. the sky is grey, pink and the stars are sleeping. i am not. soon i will be. i'm almost confused but renewed at the texture of your words. i'm here wishing upon sleeping stars. tonight is the end of the world. i'm glad i lived my life. to have touched someone; how can anyone argue with chemicals? everyone is right are they not? at least to themselves, people talk and listen. did you catch my lights in the sky? what i sent to you at a moment we both know of? if not, you already knew. my body is tired. i think of you and my insecurities are brought back down to sea level. i keep watching the snow come down like the curtain in a transylvanian theatre in romania. the artists are in their glory and applause is rushing through the trees. who am i? i've asked myself before. perhaps i'll never stop asking. i might stop entirely. to stop saying i am could awake me from a sleep i think in and bring me to a new place i've not yet seen. my looking glass is frosted. in the end i thank you. you let me touch you. you let yourself touch me. this is what is and philosophers for eons have asked and didn't see this. these are moments. i'm in a moment. right now. i'm here. to listen to these words and ask these questions of talking trees and descending snows, i am forgiven and return to my sleep within a sleep. to sleep here is to wake. you are there. don't leave me alone. those places are pieceful and i cry in them. you're something i've never asked for. you never know what you want until it's happened by some books. are you her? the stars were awake once. they told me stories and you were there. i pray for who sent them. i'll leave you to your sleep within a sleep and your dream within a dream. i want to be with you. you are snowing. let yourself rest upon your eyelashes and glisten in your grey, pink sky. celebrate this moment.