I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
- W. B. Yeats
Now that I have your dreams, what would you I do with them? Should I put them in a bag where I store the dreams of past lovers, and give them away to weary passersby? Would they take them? Would that offend you? Or maybe I should lock them up, watch over them. Make sure that, should you ever need a dream – I can give them back to you one by one.
Love, like memory, can be lost.
Sometimes, it begins with a whisper.
This is how we dead men talk to each other.
Love, like memory, is a long term project
Sometimes, it begins with an idea.
Must I disappear for you to see me?
-A one line review of Lemonade
Love, like memory, is a habit
I am not standing still
I am lying in wait.
Now that I have your dreams, I stand here and wait – again.