The mind of a dreamer never truly anchors down to the ground
Two feet on the ground while the soul cartwheels in the clouds
Fully aware of objective reason but still absentmindedly idealistic
Constantly torn between the brutality of what is and what will be
And that melancholy longing for the impossible, the unreachable wish
Despite all odds, despite all reasons, despite reality.
I think this is both the fact and fantasy of my life’s symphony:
To keep hoping, dear soul, even when hope may not make sense
To keep loving, even when the risks pile up like mountains
Stubbornly conscious that there are circumstances and harsh truths
Aware that at some point my floating heart will be forced to deflate
And nevertheless, still I dream, still I dream.
The Therapy of Words 