Chasing Butterflies

Dreams....
art, dance and fleeting memories and music. That I can no longer make sense of. Maybe they never did. Maybe they don't have to.

Yet, I've tried. Tried to peice them all together...to sew these..

endlessly

t o r n

fabric
Into one....

But I can't.

There was a time that I was sure that I had a name. Not anymore. Now here I lay, tired but more awake than I've ever been, attempting to sketch them out, perhaps on paper and to write them to those who can read.

I now attempt to disclose my dreams of times I chased butterflies and the times they chased me.

Because now all that I can do is dream.

Only dream...

Highest ranks:
12 in diary
5 personal narrative