Tomorrow will be the most beautiful day of Raymond K Hessel's life. His breakfast will taste better than any meal you or I have ever tasted.

I dreamt of her tonight. Again. I'm free of her in every way possible, in reality, but the one place I can't seem to shake the wonderful and frightening image that is her from my dreams. I'm done with her, completely, but I can't help enjoying these small moments in the quiet nights when I think of her face, and her lips, the feel, smell, and taste of both. It's an impression of her effect on my like a footprint or ghost, playing the part of the whole. I don't mind indulging this small vice of mine after all it is harmless and has no lasting effect on me unlike that which my dreams imitate, and these dreams, they always make my mornings a little brighter. Depressing as that is.