ORIGINS: Do you see the seventh character in the original series? The one that has a motif of stars covering half of his face? His eye reminded us of a barrel. And the eye of the eighth character (the one with the motif of tears) reminded us of a pillow and a blanket. So, we looked for a place to sleep and let the waves provide the lullaby.
I don’t know what happened. I don’t remember going to sleep in a barrel, but that is where I found myself when I woke up. I don’t like waves. They are a constant reminder that things break, and I don’t like falling asleep with that thought on my mind. My dreams deserve better from me. Forever, or at least the next best thing, stars that will outlast me. But I only see fish in this sea. And I already know that their scales will never compare.
You can’t fall asleep? Poor thing. Have you thought about changing your pillow? Yours looks very soft, but mine has feathers in it. I am talking about wing feathers, not down. You should give it a try. I have been using my feather pillow for years, and it has never failed to keep its promise to me. I can close my eyes, knowing that I will get to fly in my dreams. My pillow may not be as soft as yours, but I have never felt more reassured. I fall asleep in a heartbeat. And since Sweet dreams don’t do the trick for you anymore, maybe it’s time you gave a new pillow a try.
This is what happens when you tell a child to count sheep. Dreams aren’t flock animals. They are lone splashes of color. Every child deserves to feel special and have his own imagination. But you told me to fall asleep surrounded by sheep. I won’t ask if you have ever seen the colors of a galaxy, but have you at least seen a star? Have you ever seen a star that doesn’t have room to breathe and be itself? Yes. Of course your answer is yes. The little white dots you saw the one time you looked up at the night sky were all huddled close together in their sheepfold, were they not? And they seemed happy enough, did they not?
Don’t tuck me in. Don’t wish me sweet dreams. Just turn off the lights and close the door. I am tired of dreams that act like aloof cats. I am tired of cats that come and go as if they owned the night and I was just part of the furniture. Shouldn’t I get a say too? Why am I the only one that is attached to those dreams that don’t even pretend to reciprocate the sentiment? I wake up every morning and rub the sleep from my eyes. If I ever needed proof that I don’t matter, it’s right there. My knuckles don’t lie. My closed eyelids feel like waning moons to the touch. And I have to get rid of the last vestiges of that night’s dream with my own two hands. I have to touch that last bit of hopelessness that cat, that doesn’t make any promises, has left behind. So, if you still want to do something for me, just make sure that that cat doesn’t come anywhere near me from now on.