That’s the one I want – your dream neatly laid out in front of me in beautiful photos of freedom, with dirty bracelets loosely fastened round your wrist and naked sandy feet.
Perfect jobs, with progression, beautiful stationary and matching handbag – it all looks so good to me.
I don’t know the rules of dreams, if I didn’t dream it can it be mine? Is it really so bad to steal yours?
I find it so easy falling for your dreams, open hearted I hear the passion and conviction in your stories, and instantly I want it for myself. It could be my dream, it feels familiar already, so right, I’m sure I want it to.
And then it’s mine, and the promise of happiness drifts away and I’m never quite fulfilled.
Turns out it’s not really the dream I’m after, it’s the knowing I’m craving.
I guess the only answer is dream?
They must be in there somewhere, hiding behind a pile of someone else travel photos, job applications and perfect boyfriends. So worried about making bad choices and looking silly, I let them go, they were lost.
How hard can it be to find them? After all, they’re only dreams.