She sit´s awake in her room as the night brings us to her.

One of us sits on the floor, he is made of wires and the thoughts of a writer.

Another sits close to her rubbing her back now I know it's bad.

she hates him. In real life he did terrible things to her.  

The moon Shines bright on the tears flowing down her face like a stream.

They glisen.

A crowed of 3 to 6 people are there, filling the space, yet only she knows that.

Her subconscious brings me  in threw the door, my long brown hair flows in a wind that should not be there.

her cries are panicky and uncontrollable, unheard by anyone who ´cares´.

I sits next to next to her.

My warmth comforts her.

Her warmth comforts her.

The crying stops but tears still fall, It is the fact that my arms are not there.

These people are not real.

her people are not real.

she is sitting in her room surrounded by empty space, But we are always here.

she need us, we need her.

We are her, and she is us.