What does one do with all these half-painted dreams?I wish I knew.
I put mine in a box, stored high on a shelf in our closet, visiting infrequently, afraid to look in. I see them in maps and pictures, displayed in a ratty apartment I can't wait to break free from. They call out to me, taunt me, frustrate me... "You're not there yet," they say.
I look to those clouds of change, after a hot and dry and unbearable summer, bringing in wind from a hurricane, dying down in our plains. Rain half-heartedly falls in desperate spits. "Go, please go," they say.
What does one do with all these half-painted dreams? I pray, I sing songs (slow, tearful notes of hope), I go to the grocery store, I fold laundry and pick up legos and make my bed. Every day...
Until change finds me.
Today is Five Minute Friday, where we join the lady formerly known as Gypsy Mama and write it out.
Give it a go. It's great, cheap therapy.