I read her acient words and soildify my image of reality which until now, I was not completely certain of. My dreams seem to always become reality. I feel like a god more than ever.
I want to tell her all her dreams are real. But as soon as I do, the dreams will no longer be. I think this contant flux of wants , pleasure delaying, and imaginged possibilities may be a way one can have true eternal love. I have to rip my love out to keep it. I have to never get what I want to get what I want. Or I could be totally wrong.

The amount of hours. Period.