Dream
I had a dream that I can’t remember anymore. It was so vivid
and colorful, full of ferocity, heartache, tragedy. I wish I could remember it
because it would make a wonderful story, one that I could write and develop and
study until I captured the essence of the dream, and found the story that I’m
meant to tell.
It’s happened before, the dreams, not the storytelling. This
was all long before writing became a goal, a hazy, fanciful flirtation that has
now developed into a fully blown rose, serious and sensual.
Goals always seemed like such dry, practical, unimaginative
things to me, so imagine my delight in discovering that they can be fantastic
and wonderful in the truest meanings of the words.
Alas, it faded too quickly for me to capture, too quickly
for me to even consider jotting it down. And now I must wait until it visits my
dreams again.
No comments:
Post a Comment