Sleep hath its own world,
And a wide realm of wild reality,
And dreams in their development have breath,
And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy.
The Dream, Lord Byron (1816)
Monday, January 09, 2006
It's raining. Again.
Seems like the skies are desperately washing away the past year. Clean up for a new year. A little behind schedule? Haha. Or maybe, it's just too dirty and stained.
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