I wish I had sleeping pills or a lucky stone under my pillow, so I never have to lift my head or get lost in my bed. And when silence passes by and makes me hollow, I'd find the hole in my chest and the light that has been shed. Maybe then I'd become a grave and bury the dead in me; tell him death is just another story; beautiful as the one grandma told and turned out to be, never scary, so don't worry. Someday an ocean that had once smelt of paper and poison will grab your scent. Someday I'll catch my breath and dive, until I drop you by accident.