Knight Dreams

There's just something about S. Carey's "All We Grow" album that makes me want to dream. Makes me want to stop whatever I'm doing and draft an endless supply of futures and cross my fingers. Makes me want to twirl my hair around my fingers and never stop until one of them comes true. Of course if I spent my whole day doing that, the only outcome would be a very sore hand and ridiculously curly hair.

Well, yesterday I was entirely tired and not exactly interested in writing anything of interest on here, finding it difficult to even hack something out. And then it came to me. I realized today that although I started this blog to be honest, I've instead come across as nebulous, and not altogether forthwith. See, when I started it, I didn't realize that entirely destructive nature putting personal information out would have on a person. It's quite like slapping a piece of your own soul onto paper and then asking for it. 

Baring your soul. That's the tough part, isn't it?

Maybe not. I think it's the judgement we associate with baring our souls, well at least for me. What are they thinking right now?, how do they really feel about it? and so on and so forth. [Now that was a prime example of rubbish punctuation. Although, I am an ex-literature major so I feel entirely entitled to do whatever the hell I feel like doing with punctuation.]

So. Back to the baring my soul bit.

I don't like it one bit, but that doesn't matter at the moment. Because discomfort moves people. Changes people. Challenges the existence of the cosmos and reorders galaxies. And so I'll let you in on a good portion of my dreaming yesterday: it was spent dreaming of Scotland. No surprise there, really. At all. I intend to live there someday, and hopefully within the next four years. The next four years, you say? Well, it seems a bit of an arbitrary number to the untrained eye [and a bit of an arbitrary number to the trained eye as well I might add] but I figure by then I'll have finally finished university and have been afloat for at least two years consolidating everything and putting two and two together. Which is completely exciting to me and just around the corner. 

But then I stop myself and think about what I'd be leaving. 

Family. Friends. Let's be honest. Everything. 

Those little winks and nudges, that feeling of the fall breeze sweeping through the concrete alleyway, that bitter cold smell of winter, the ringing laughter of so many memories quietly falling at my feet and swirling through my head. The fact of the matter is, I'm going to miss you. At the same time, I have to ask myself when and if it will really happen, have to keep my cards close to my chest and play them in a poker game with destiny.

On that light note. 

The thing is: Scotland's a dream. Like so many others I keep locked inside and hidden away until I want to take them out and really look at them. Really realize what they mean. Sometimes I feel like there's a knight poking me in the side, threatening my dreams with a claymore and cutting them to bits. But then I realized something. This knight doesn't have a claymore. He doesn't have arms. Or legs. What's he going to do? Shout at my dreams? Bite the legs off my dreams? I don't think so. See, that's the thing about dreams. 

If you keep them in a place silly enough, nothing can hurt them.

Getting bled on,
M