On Dreams
Some dreams remain in the realm of fantasy. Phantastic in the archaic sense. In a plane thats beyond human sensation or perception. Others are realized, acquire existence, come to existence, despite losing some of their distinct features.
There were once "forbidden dreams", dreams that I nursed in the privacy of my thoughts, in the darkness of the night, bloomed and grew. And in a deep, deep place in my heart I let it be. It happily flourished, unattended, unencumbered by a vigilant, watchful eye.
And I let it.
And while my dreams buoyed with the tide of hidden, forbidden feelings, his dreams soared, beat its wings, like a bird soaring in the sky. And it circled wide and far. Far, very far. Oceans away.
And what bird would not be happy soaring the sky? And what heart would not be broken when its dreams remain captive to the realm of fantasy?
There were once "forbidden dreams", dreams that I nursed in the privacy of my thoughts, in the darkness of the night, bloomed and grew. And in a deep, deep place in my heart I let it be. It happily flourished, unattended, unencumbered by a vigilant, watchful eye.
And I let it.
And while my dreams buoyed with the tide of hidden, forbidden feelings, his dreams soared, beat its wings, like a bird soaring in the sky. And it circled wide and far. Far, very far. Oceans away.
And what bird would not be happy soaring the sky? And what heart would not be broken when its dreams remain captive to the realm of fantasy?
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