I had a dream that I wrote this in my sleep.

As I lay here feeling the crispness in my sheets, every cotten thread seems to be a visitor of the arctic and is blasting cool shots of air all over my skin. It's bare and I can't quite explain how anxious it makes me feel. It's comparison could be running through a meadow of tallgrass at speeds your legs never thought they could take you. The wind gusts through every orafice in your face and fresh air is almost intoxicating. It's dark in my room, as it often is right before your eyes adjust to the contrast. In a few short moments I'm able to make out the shapes in my room and am dancing alongside the lights that enter from the neighboring streets below. My bed is as big as the ocean on nights like these and sometimes I feel it's width and its length can be endless. No matter how far I roll, or stretch, or reposition myself, I feel infinite. I'm in a sea that counters too many depths. Time is incalculable. I try to rush so many things that have been pooling in my brain, I try to zap the things that fester..and before you know it I open my eyes and my room is drowning in daylight. I'm closest to the sky so its the first thing I see. I wish the blue sky longed for me the way I do for it..I wish it could take away all the mental formation.