Saturday, January 27, 2018

Dream Journal

I appear to be writing at a desk, surrounded by piles of books. The desk is rather large and made of a deep cherry wood. The sunlight comes in at an angle, reflecting off the pages at my fingertips. Peeking thru the curtains, I can feel the the warmth. I exhale deeply.

“How odd,” I think to myself aloud.
The titles are all blurred as if they weren’t meant to be seen yet.
Some books are sprawled out and I am furiously taking notes.

Maybe an author is what I will become after all. A dream not so lost….


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