I'm not sure where they all went, or when they left. Some of them just faded out and I never realized it was gone until long after something tickled the memory of it. Looking at that corner of the mind, once held a beautiful dream (they all are, aren't they?) now only holds a thick fog. Over time, it slowly faded away without noticing it. I guess dreams do that if you don't invest enough heart and soul in them.

In other areas, there are gaping holes as if some great hand had ripped an expanse from the surrounding terrain. The scars from such a violent act heal slowly - if at all. No fog surrounds these lost dreams - each one stands out clearly so that even the cursory glance or slightest hint of a memory shows the silhouette of once was once there - a face, a life, a dream. No longer there, every detail is perfectly preserved.

Each rip in the fabric of dreams is remembered - that punched in the gut feeling when you wish there was something physical instead. Take two aspirin, go to sleep and an excuse to double up and cry. It's easier to drink on an empty stomach than to eat on a broken heart.

And so, looking around you find no direction to travel - no dreams out there beckoning. All that remains is the enshrouding mists and great holes in the self.

Do you have the courage to dream again?