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by ana (ugly_letters)
at June 3rd, 2006 (04:40 pm)

Dreams are suprisingly durable. Though forgotten, they will lie like dry seeds buried in desert sands, waiting. A dream may appear fragile and lifeless, but inside the parched husk waits lush creative potential. We sometimes forget these old dreams of ours, but they do not forget us. Spring rains arrive at last, following the hard years of drought, and our 'dead' dreams sprout most unexpectedly. We are filled with delight to see their long-forgotten shape, to breathe their fragrance again, and we wonder at our carelessness in forgetting. Today, I will visit my garden of forgotten dreams... and bring a watering can.
-Rhonda Brunea


I dream of being a great artist. I dream of being a writer. I dream the impossible.

But my greatest dream is for me to overcome depression and the feeling of worthlessness. I dream of knowing my true self. I dream of loving. I dream of simple things that are so easy to be forgotten.

I dream of stupid things. I dream of climbing mountains, building orphanages, helping sick cats...

"Today, I will visit my garden of forgotten dreams... and bring a watering can."

So they will never die and become more than a dream.