The woman.

Drowning in my own thoughts, continuously day and night, going back, down, up and everywhere. Too immense, they blocking on my ears too much to handle, they are eating me alive clueless-ly in good or a bad way as if there is nothing else in the world, deep deep thoughts they lead me to one scene always a woman a blonde one, sitting on a desk beside a window an open window with white curtains moving smoothly with the fresh air letting the sunbeams in, actually everything is white. The woman is wearing thin glasses writing this. Maybe drinking a cup of a coffee too and I think in her slow calming voice. She always pops on my mind I never saw her face. But she always writes my thoughts, it's like she is my thoughts keeper. And All I can say is that awake dreamers are the most dangerous of all.