and these dreams are only dreams.

It turns out that when one’s mind is disturbed, it becomes difficult for one to think of anything else but the soft humming of thoughts that float within the mind. These thoughts flow like water in streams, consistently rushing along, taking the soil and leaves that lay along the sides: gently eroding the earth with time.

These thoughts that have grown from memories and lessons thrive on every minute we live. Some blossom into luscious green pines and some fall short of being much of anything. They serve no purpose in the vast woods; they merely take up space and inhibit new forms of life to grow. Vines sprout from nowhere and wrap themselves around the large trunks of trees, like everlasting hugs. They are unable to let go because they have no other place to go. These vines are unfamiliar with the other parts of the woods and so they cling onto what they acknowledge as their allies. They know the trees, their neighbours, will not harm them but little do they know, it is themselves who slowly choke the trees. They weaken their branches, invade their homes and ultimately inhibit them from growth. And if one listens closely enough, the vines whisper soft apologies to these trees. They ask the small birds to chirp apologetic songs to the world because they have no voice. These vines are silenced from birth.