A Short Memory

Dreams, dreams, dreams. Who can tell me what they mean?

Drizzled with the guilt I cannot sleep. Last night I've taken my friends' trust and sold it for ancient blessed trinkets. As we've robbed the shelves of the temple they've given me a look, but followed through with the sin, perhaps in the belief my motives carry a higher purpose than petty theft. They didn't. Now closing eyes breaks my heart. Now sleep is unattainable and brings salt to my eyes. Now there's no path back. At least until I forget.