it's odd how i think of you at night, when it's too dark and too late and i should disappear into a pillow with a lullabye voice in my head.

you were a dream come true for that - or just a dream, i forget which.

it's when i feel like lying flat against the bed with hair much darker than mine fallen across my eyes - they're some great color; green, yellow - wearing a knee-length skirt and smoking a cigarette, wearing lipstick that doesn't match and closing my eyes to keep out the world and let your soul mingle with mine.

scratch the cigarette, though - both of us hated that anyway, and take away the lipstick. but the rest is yours, tagging along behind your dreams. it isn't me, but sometimes that's just who i need to be.