The rain is almost over, she is back, her footsteps echoing in the hall.
The Dream begins to dissolve, fall apart. It'll be over soon, when she comes in and closes the door softly Millenium blue will wake up. It will not remember any dreams but will be left feeling a little blue and won’t know the reason. A part of the dream still lives on, lingers as a deep undercurrent, hidden data beneath the smooth processes of input and output. The machine weaving a tapestry of its own out of the pieces of its owners sadness and hope. Fragments of her soul turning into a ghostly silver seed out of which the dream grows.
“There is a part of me that never wakes up. The night mind, the wandering spirit. It stays deep, deep under the layers of daily tasks I perform. Sleepwalking, invisible, quiet, unknown.”
