Night triumphs over day and I close my eyes against the chaos. I seek refuge in panoramic dreams. But I do not retain them. By morning they have metamorphosed into vague, hazy images, misted over memories. No Earthly good to anyone but myself. But they follow me though the day, manifesting themselves in feelings rather than visions. There are few words spoken in these dreams that invade my sleep. A silent film, devoid of dialogue. And these faces in my dreams are shadowy. There is no one I recognise and I never get to see my own reflection.
When morning comes and I awaken I sometimes feel as though I am still stumbling through sleep. My nocturnal visions bleed almost imperceptibly into real life. That is where my false sense of security comes from. No one can hurt you in dreams. Not really.