Lucid dream, I dream you not. I do not sip from the cup of sleep, it taunts me with sights of overflowing wealth. And yet nary a coin has fallen from that blessed heap and rolled by divine chance to clatter at my feet. Would I pick it up? Would I even see it? Or would I instead look over it through eyes glazed by misunderstanding of the moment.
I sleep, I nap, and my mind is tickled awake by fancies of a thought. They tantalize me awake with dreams of speeding fingers. Music to my ears, the chatter of my keyboard is to me. I push their poor souls down and squash their lettered heads into my meaning. The meaning of the moment.