every day i dream — of a world that can only be reached with the tendrils of your wandering mind, of things that could be and could have been. i see an infinity of possibilities in front of me; yet only one of them will come true. perhaps my fantasies are far-fetched, too highly saturated to be in reality, but shouldn't i explore the boundaries of my mind, instead of oppressing the thoughts that rise from the inner depth, and boxing away my dreams?
the child i once was dreamed as though the universe was something more than only substantial; i wished on shooting stars, danced along to songs and spun colourful stories onto paper, my mind brimming with questions, perpetually curious about life. i rediscovered my inner child this year — like a memory long forgotten, resurrected by pearlescent words and hazy images that drifted through my consciousness as i slumbered. and i remembered. the joy in which i soaked my young days, the green nature of my childhood, the sledding and playing in the snow.
the world overflows with beauty that can only truly be seen with the whole of your being, and not just your eyes. i discover fragments of it in music, paintings and the storms residing in the eyes of the truth. raw, unfiltered — and yet nothing less than pure light that is not unlike the quality of my softest dreams and nebulas encompassing young stars.
i rise like a balloon slipped from a child's hand. i find myself in the colours spilling across my mind during silent nights, whispers ascending from the floor of my soul, through debris of pain and dark memories, and to the surface of the unruly sea above. upon waking from my dreams, i realise myself and remember who i am. this world is constructed from stardust. our reveries are no less than the air we cradle in our lungs, and the crystallised fragments of clouds drifting down and melting on our upturned faces and the bare skin of our reaching hands — so do not fear to dream.
25.12.17
