I decided yesterday I wish I could buy dreams.
I bought a leather-ish jacket yesterday that I love. I'd wanted one for years but thought I wouldn't find one that looked good unless I was shopping in the States. It is just right for me. If I could buy a dream, it wouldn't be like buying a car, or house, or landing the perfect job. I don't know what store or person would sell them, or what shape it would be, or what price they would go for. It's so easy to buy things we decide we want, whether we need them or not, with or without the money. I've found like-new and great stuff in my family's giveaways. But what the heart really craves is a dream. Not the ring that is the yes to a lifetime, but the dream of a journey together- maybe one better or harder than imagined. Not just a vacation complete with warm sunsets and no agenda.
But dreams are not sold, maybe just restored, inherited or planted. Without a script, price tag or warranty. Sometimes not even by choice, but by being called to what doesn't make sense. Other times dreams take too long to arrive, on the train of time, where love is a window.