Quiescent

I've been transversing between Will Graysons' world, the reality I left my body with, and the dreamland full of woes and uncertainty that it feels also like reality.

Once I let myself get drowned with the idealisms and tortured thoughts of the greysons, I suddenly find myself swimming in the realms of dreams. Where I see vague faces and people. Scenarios I've been and possibly will. Where waking up isn't necessary but much preferred considering the state I am with as of the moment. 

I removed myself from the orthopneic position I've put myself at the nurses' station. I blinked once. Twice. Trying to remember the flow of disrupted thoughts.  Thinking whether there were new orders made, or whether there are seniors who've seen me dozing off and were just waiting for the right moment to give me a failing mark.

Anyway. I'm starting not to give a fuck. I'm sleepy and moody and irritable as always. It's a blessing in disguise to find a place I could lay myself to rest after the war I've been through last month. Least I could once again charge for the greater fight that's on its way. 

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