Of dreams

Have you ever had the sort of dream which you know, deep in your heart, you’ll never be able to capture? And thus at every opportunity that presents itself like a blossoming Cereus, you turn away; too afraid that if you extended your arms towards it, you shall find your fingers sweeping through the mist of a mirage. But you never do give up on the dream – you enjoy the reveries too much, and without it, life would seem to lose its flavor. It is tormenting, certainly. There is nothing you can do but to watch its exquisite form drift in the ether high above you. You wait patiently with clasped hands, comforted by hope and conceded to futility – oh, do you not know that you are only waiting for death?

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