Once, I knew how to dream.

I sit on the sidewalk. The full moon rises in a clear night sky. A breeze blows through the thick grass. The sounds of night are all around. What do I see? A bright light in the sky. What do I hear? A bunch of insects. What do I feel? A simple breeze across the skin. No more distant worlds filled with stories yet untold. No more the sounds and breath of life. Where have they gone?

I sit and watch a young woman express the pain and joy of life in a span of minutes. Another tells us her wishes and hopes, and they are good. Several young men tell us that they are alive and happy to be so, and that too is good. Another grasps a dream and guides it where he will. I sit and watch all this, and I wonder. Am I jealous? Or do I simply miss something I once had not too long ago?

Once, I knew how to dream.

But I am still young. And I do remember.

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