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Square Sails And Dreams Made Of Glass


I have a powerful imagination.

I dream a lot. Of stories, of futures, of places, of people in my head. Sometimes I dream of things I want to do.

When I really want something, really believe in it, a dream like that can grow large and beautiful, like a great translucent shape inside of me, an Arwen-shaped statue that sits under my skin. Large dreams like that get into everything, into every part of my mind and being and thoughts. I clothe them with things my unconscious tells me I need, like freedom and open space and a peace away from a world that is frequently too rushed stressful for me.

My sailing dreams resurface every time life feels confining. Lately, they've come up very powerful indeed, flooding me almost.

When a dream like that shatters, the glass is everywhere. And the shards are very, very sharp. There is no trail of thought that does not touch them. There is no story or music that doesn't run into them somehow. I try to edge around the pieces, because they make me cry almost every time. But that feels right. Because a dream this large and beautiful should not disappear without hurt or tears.