Read by Street Boehm

Even so, he was never far from his thoughts and he spent many an hour daydreaming while he lay alone in the hospital room. He imagined himself talking in any one of his many daydreams, daydreams that continually played out on the ceiling over his bed, because they were the only true source of sanity that he could conjure up. He would think of what he was saying and hear her response in that happy, sweet, singsong voice of hers. Sometimes she'd put her head over to one side and scold him and other times she'd be standing over him, her feet planted on either side of him on the bed and teasing him as she undressed

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