What are dreams made of?
Dreams those wispy things much like our souls that run everything and yet you can’t put a finger on them. Touch them you can’t, forget them you can’t, hold them you can’t and yet they form and they also shatter. I know this sounds melodramatic but every time I have dared to dream, fate has had other plans. I can tell you I have worked really hard to ensure that my dreams are guarded against strong winds and the hot sun…that they have a cool and comfortable place to stay in, grow in and yet, yet each time they have got bruised and then broken. My last dream was one made of music, soft candle lights, cakes, coffee, red roses & tube roses and the nargis in winters. It was made of port wine, sea shells, mountain air, rhymes, films, books and long conversations that lasted through the night. That dream lies shattered now. I don’t have the luxury of sitting with the bits and crying so I move on. But as I walk the shards enter my feet and scratch my heart. This last dream