The documentary was about wasps before I hazed in slow sleep. In my dream, there were eyes between the sills. I know, because I developed a sense for watchful gaze. You make my skin crawls with disgust.
I once dream of innocent cries on my broken shoulders, comforts were offered and tears don't fall. You were somehow, nearer.
I woke up thinking what had the sting brought. Was it courage? Was it acceptance?
