I hate those dreams. I hate them, not because they remind me of what I do not have, but what I cannot have. They remind me of a part of myself – the forgone, the forsaken, the forbidden. And then I wake up, feeling that the world is a little more dreary, a little less magical. I wake up feeling sorry for myself, feeling sorry that I feel sorry for myself.
And it lingers. The winter frost of dawn; the remnant dew of the night fog. It is no shadow that is chased away by the awakening light. It is a deep chill in the soul.
The question is not ‘what’ but ‘who’.
Soft wind, sweet breath, fill the doldrums. For this ship has remained in its safe harbours for far too long. Blow, where You will, to where the wild things are.
Do we dream or do we dare?
Those who dream but do not dare; will never end up any where.
Yet those who dare but do not dream; will only ever be another meme.