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.