Dreams are a funny thing for me.
Whether it is based on actual data or has become personal folklore, my mind tells me that if I place too much hope on something coming true, it won’t. That a dream I’m dead sure will come to pass, shant.
The subconscious ones are no less in my control. Oh, I might know what inspired an appearance or a prop to appear. But my brain makes it’s own tracks and keeps the controls away from me.
my dreams are abstractions to me. I don’t follow the likely ones too close, well, perhaps better to say with no real seriousness.
The ones I live are the ones that will never happen. Whole conversations with people I will never meet. Ideas for dwellings in just the perfect place. The ones where the stars align just so.
Dreams are fickle things that I am still learning to dance with. They help the work day pass. They are snacks, not a full meal.
And I wonder if they should be more. Or that’s all I can manage.