It is perfect. I am perfect.

The soothing darkness surrounds me inside, in the midst of a silver night out. My feet comfortably beside each other, heel to heel; toe to toe. The river-shaped skin on my right drawn to my bed as An existence of light, burns through Romeo's Night.

And it is perfect. I am perfect.

The music says my name, in our tongue of secrecy; the secret of our tongue. Its melody flows in the inky sky, riding each lurid cloud and then floats into my lightless room. As if the music itself, had traveled through space and time, to reach my soul.

It is perfect. And I am perfect.

My room, plain by day; magical by night, is the reason I stay awake at twilight. A haven where my spirit freely soars as my body gracefully rests. My systems in sync, my thoughts at ease.

It is perfect. I am perfect.

My head gently tossed onto the belly of a pillow, and it, like a greedy dream-catcher, steals my dreams for itself, guess that's why the best pillows are plump.

But It is perfect. I am perfect.