Is it possible that sleep finds in you a more steadfast companion than even in me? If slumber took on a persona, it appears he favors your embrace, bestowing upon you a resolute serenity.

Alternatively, perhaps weariness has taken its toll.

Should I extend to you wishes of blossoms and celestial beings against a vast expanse of sky? A canvas painted with affection and self-esteem, where Saturdays become a realm of repose before you stir, encountering my affection anew?
© Saint Mace