Will I always dream of life beyond the creaky bones of now?
The other side of the hill will call again, no doubt, whispering: this is what your life could be.
And though my heart is full, will I always dream of something more?
Of the life beyond the life?
The echo of the here.
The shadow of the now.
Dreams are always somewhere else, aren’t they?In a place that doesn’t exist.
Shall I creep towards that place, knowing there is no destination?
Knowing the birth of a dream will only end it and call forth the birth a new one?
Knowing the dream train will never ever reach the station?