Sleep. Sleep, come, arrest from my soul the things I would not miss - memories of long lost friends, whom I could offer no more sympathy for their hardships than congratulations on their successes, steal away moments idled away in days and months and years, and with them those moments when someone's opinion crossed the line from hopeful to contemptuous. If you should want times of false self importance and narcissistic resolve, then they too are yours.
But take not the loneliness, or the invisible scars rent by the clawed fingers of another's ego, the giver hiding behind anonymous bricks and latticed windows. Those things I shall keep. And take not the moments of achievement following self pity, nor the gratitude and relief which follows the completion of a great work. Take not those times which shaped me.
And if that be the case, take nothing from me at all, for I would not be who I am without them. Therefore, one final request, my dear slumber: render unto me the visions which ease my tormented days as they resurface in snatches like time lapse photography. Leave me with everything, slowly fading behind the transparent curtains as the ivy uproots the mortar.