Rippling down the drain, shards of old broken dreams collide in to one-another, causing a new form of music to transpire. Crystalline harmonies charm into existence the faintest and most obscure buds of new hope, who in turn, blossom into unexpected desires. Not all dreams can be retained in the thick scheme of things. Even as perception writhes and molds itself into fresh forms, the subconscious mind gazes keenly at itself in the mirror, pantomiming recognition. Expectations make a U-turn and soon become lost amidst a tangle of arteries and half-truths. Wandering lost between countless pools of softly drowned yesterdays, one comes to realize how soggy is life without the sun. How dull are windows without the light. How dismal grows the day that lacks a song. And so we cartwheel across the field, swim across the river, and claim the only heart we were ever truly meant to love—one mate of the soul, pure and constant, deliciously divine, yours and mine.
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