The Book Of Dreams

I have learned that trust is no more a foundation than the lightest touch or the deepest fear. That one basket cannot take on the shape of another or that of an egg. That eggs crack. That the lecithin upon which the heart must feed seeps willingly through the gaps in the weave until we find ourselves soaked in our own lack of ability to hold it together.

I have learned that the heart is strong but the lungs are weak.

This is the book of dreams.