As a dreamer who dreams up too many dreams to keep track of, I’m used to disappointment.

I do it to myself, really. After all, when you dream hundreds of dreams rather than working towards just one, it’s so unlikely that any of them will come into fruition.

But being a dreamer is also a blessing, because it allows me to live out a handful of wild, fantastical lifetimes before breakfast. It lets me find the magic in things that others wouldn’t give a second glance, and it helps me weave stories to entertain myself with - or lock away for later use.

Some dreams are different, however. They’re fragile and quiet, simple enough to come true. These dreams are tricky, hold them too tightly and they might crumble. Hold them too loosely, and they’ll blow away from your grasp forever.

So I tuck them away in the safe space between my thoughts - the space where fragile things go. The place that holds the land mine of shadows not ready to be faced yet, the many things that I dread, and the very few things I hope for.

I keep my dreams safe there until they’re strong enough to come into the world, never poking or prodding, just letting them bubble and simmer and grow.

But sometimes, on walks, they spill out from the space between my thoughts and take my hand, and muse with me about all the beautiful things to come.

❤ Jasmin.