Why do we dream? Why is it that we ( and by we, of course, I mean I) clamber upon these perches and look carefully into the distance separating the reality from the magically unattainable and then proceed to nurture them?
Why the need to ask for more than is possible? Why do we dare to see what we may not voice, for fear of being ridiculed, for shame at such wild fantasies or for silence in return for luck.
Why do we dream? Why do we look beyond the boundaries upto which we push ourselves and then no more. Why do we ask for that which we do not see? Is it the hope that sustains us or the promise of fulfillment?
Do we dream for a better state of affairs or do we dream of actual fulfillment?
And why do we dream?
And why do I dream? If, as stated above, in the mornings, I can never recall what the fuss was all about. And if, every morning, reality beckons.
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