Forever January

Where do dreams go when they die? What sort of heaven do they dissipate into once we’ve thrown them to the wind? Perhaps stars are made of old dreams from across the galaxies. They all merge together to form something beautiful again, something with meaning.

If there’s a heaven for dreams, it’s where I’d want to rest my head and sleep for aeons. Sleep and forget, sleep and dream anew.

I need love and dreams. I need them like flowers need the sun.

But I’m shrinking in the dark.