There is something maddeningly charming about slipping from the phenomenal world and into the sublime, don't you think?

We could visit a Borges inspired land where magic drizzles in a gentle downpour.
We could live inside of an enchanting rain that dampens reality with the sweetness and the slowness of a dreamscape.

There, our inner monologues soften.
Time glides gently,
frame by frame, 
and one sentence spoken fills an eternity.

There, everything is beautiful.
We are painfully lovely with tousled-hair and no lipstick.

There, everything is fleeting.
When we wake,
we fall back into our chairs as if we'd been shot.