She's a dreamer, this girl I know. Constantly wishing, imagining. In her head, fantasies dance like fairies in an enchanted forest. They swoop up and down, around and around, until reality blurs with possibility, until she is sitting one morning with a cup of coffee and in an instant she is transported to a garden in Versailles, with a blank journal and a cafe creme.
But dreaming, she tells me, is not all fun and games. You see, not all dreams can come true at once. And sometimes, you feel guilty for constantly dreaming, and wanting more, more, more, when reality is already filled with so many wonderful things come true.
Can her life include all her dreams? Sometimes, she ponders the possibility that some fantasies will remain locked away in the depths of her soul, never to see the light of day. And the thought makes her heart hurt.
But that's the beauty, or curse, of being a dreamer - nothing can stop the ceaseless tumble of hopes and dreams. They bounce against the edges of everyday life. One day, she thinks, maybe one day, they will break through.