When you're all alone, what do you think about love?

Wanted to report in about last night's sleep, post-writing.

My dreams were varied and numerous and often downright weird, and I woke up utterly exhausted this morning.  But there was not anything even vaguely creepy or even close to nightmarish, so I'm taking that as a good sign.

Of course, what I'm writing is clearly a direct cut out of my subconscious, so I suppose it's not too surprising that it didn't trigger me.  This is catharsis in its purest form, the drawing out of poison from a wound, and all the parts of my brain and mind are aware of that.

I'm hoping this is a door opening, and not a door about to slam in my face again.  And yes, that's my fear talking, as it always does.