You are nothing.
You are everything.
You are magic in a box high up on a hill overlooking the universe.
A box which is opened every time that you sleep.
Revelations decoded as the lid is lifted.
Sweet dreams.
Memories casting spells from the spirit-world which transport you throughout space and time.
Future presenting past – transversing as one across existence.
Immortality isn’t hard to imagine when you dream rather than think.
Your flesh will turn to dust and travel on the wings of your essence with reverie as captain.
Flying metaphysically.
poorman'sdreams 