I always knew I wasn't one of those.
I find myself dreaming because I'm waking. I dream of my dreamings while awake and sleep-missing. The dreamings that feel so much realer than waking. The real feels unreal because dreamings and sleepings both lie in my bed and sneak softly out my window when Day comes knocking.
Infrequent and short-lived are these meetings under moonlight, and so often Sleeping comes late and leaves early without Dreaming. Sleeping requires so much, for too little, not enough. But Sleeping, he comes nightly where Dreaming visits sparsely. Dreaming, she's bright and enormous, her stories filling whole oceans. She's lovely and wild. And when she leaves my bed, I'm sure that her memory's been seared in my head. But so many a night, time with sweet Dreaming melts away by day's light.