I could not pick a favorite. Perhaps I have many, in that case.
[ The way he speaks is enough to draw her gaze back to him, the slightest wrinkle to her brow from an open curiosity. What does he know of people's dreams? He doesn't look it, but he must be a scholar. Or a doctor? She's long since learned that appearances are almost always deceiving.
To even think of recording her dreams for anyone else is beyond comprehension, but her dreams are nothing like they should be. She does not dream of Wordsworth. There's no poetry to her dreamscape; there's only pain, until there is nothingness. ]
no subject
[ The way he speaks is enough to draw her gaze back to him, the slightest wrinkle to her brow from an open curiosity. What does he know of people's dreams? He doesn't look it, but he must be a scholar. Or a doctor? She's long since learned that appearances are almost always deceiving.
To even think of recording her dreams for anyone else is beyond comprehension, but her dreams are nothing like they should be. She does not dream of Wordsworth. There's no poetry to her dreamscape; there's only pain, until there is nothingness. ]
You study dreams?