Sudoku is an excellent game, but I'm just too tired to play it right now.
So instead, I came here, to relax my half-dead brain, and spill out the unnecessary emotions.
Because it's not needed, certainly not by you, and not me either.
I am impressed by your faith, even though it is in something airy. You make sweet wishes because your heart is filled with honey, and you care less if they come true. If they don't, you can still live like the way you live now. That's impressive, because it's something I'm afraid of doing.
Not long ago, just like you, I had woven a cocoon made of all the joy in my life. It was so close to reality that I lost myself to it, ignoring everything outside. I locked myself in and lived off my belief. Too bad eventually someone broke in, draggin me out of this self-made utopia, and possibly, saving me from being smothered to death.
And now I'm scared to dream again, because I can make dreams look so realistic and never get out of it. I stuck my feet on the soil of reality and withstand the blowing of the fairytale wind. It feels like a long march, and it's filled with both fun and pain, surprise and expectation, love and despair. After I was forced to realize world is not perfect, the journey brought me the sense of being alive.
I admire you, because you remind me of my old self and those sweet, or rather bitter days. You can dream of a perfect world in sleep, but dreams themselves are not perfect: once you wake up, all the candies and fairies go away, and you are left alone with nothing but emptiness. I don't know what I should tell you, because entering the realm of being awake can be frightening. Maybe I should just leave you alone, as a sleeping beauty, never to be awakened by those gentlemen-looking, but vacuous princes.
As I get on with my life, I wish you another, if not the last, sweet dream.