They say that dreams are a congestion of the imagination overburdened by the unsaid words, the acts not performed, the hate or love afecctions that we do not and will never express, and also by the not given kisses.
(Van den Borken)
Nothing can be done. Useless to keep up appearances. Just imagining you drives me wild. It leaves me this way, my face burning and my feet in puddles, breathless, without music, without anything.