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Go ahead and read, for your mind might be baffled. You might leave, even with the most dumbfounded expression. Without a word, you will complain. Although, the simplest forms of regret you can't contain...
Things do not come to the human eye so easily. Love comes in steps, just like suicide and stress. Denial; lying to yourself about what the truth really beholds between reality and your nightmares becomes the first stair towards stress. Coincidences are impossible to comprehend because there is no true reality behind them all, they just simply happen. As strange as these statements may seem there is definitely a statement being made. It is also strange how we cannot choose between reality or our ‘happily ever after’ dreams we end up imagining out of scratch.
A dream a twenty-two year old girl dreamt up brought her to tears. Her face was discombobulated and wet. Her eyes were blood-red from insomnia. She has had this hell of a disease ever since her boyfriend had left her. She told him about a dream when a man had slit his throat with a saw found in her own garage. Her boyfriend had pictured it in his own mind and insisted that she should join a psychiatric hospital where all the sick-minded people go in order to seek help, although some may never be cured.
The next night she fell asleep looking into a magazine with an ad for the hospital and the phone in her left hand. She was snoring loudly and somehow slept through the mono tone of the phone being left off the hook. She smacked her lips once and quickly rose her back up, but her eyes were still tightly shut. She mumbled to herself in her deep sleep and rose one foot off the bed. Her light blue and white, vertically-striped pajamas rustled against the bed sheets. The headlights of a car shined through the window, shaded by the closed blinds, flew by the house with a silent growl from the engine, not causing the slightest flinch in her entire, mobile body.
There was a high-pitched screech coming from the door as she opened it unwillingly. The car that had driven by quickly came to a halt in front of her house. It was too dark to see the type of car or the person driving it, but the girl continued moving steadily in her deep slumber. She opened her eyes as soon as the man in the car got out and yelled her name.
“Tracy!”
He walked closer to her in steel-toed boots and a black leather jacket with blue jeans and a light gray, low-cut shirt. He was Caucasian and had dark eyes, blending in with the night sky. His short, black hair spiked up in the back and was let down in the front but didn’t even reach to his worry lines creasing between his brown eyes.

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