Bleh. I dreamnt of [redacted] last night… as I am wont to disclaim, it was nothing perverted. If I were a little more emotional, or if I wasn’t so tapped out and bled dry, I might have wept upon waking, but everything is just too little, too late, and what the fuck am I doing here surrounded by people I do not trust, people who would probably sell me if it would turn them a profit.

There is little beauty in my world. No one here dreams of better things, it is only grasping and taking, dull dry hedonism, nothing existing outside of self.

I have more admiration for murderers who at least would protect helpless children.

So I dreamt of [redacted] last night. In my dream, we had fallen asleep. She was under the covers, I was on top of the covers, [and] I had the blanket that I had carried around [like] Linus when I was a kid.

[I want] to convey how beautifully innocent it was. She got up… we were both still wearing whatever we were wearing the night before… she got up to start her day, and she made me get under the covers as she left, and I did, barely opening my eyes. She left and I lay there alone, hoping against all hope that when I woke, she’d be beside me. And I woke for real, knowing my emptiness was complete.