Like the lovers stretched out on the lawn of a lovely summer afternoon, drunk on the odor of plants and flowers, I dream. My mind wanders and returns to years ago. Among the trees and shrubs, I dream of my work.
I dream of what it was unable to be.
I dream of what it could be.
I dream of what could not be.
I dream of what could have been.
I dream of what could have not been.
I dream of what it is not.
I dream of what could have not been.
I dream of what it would be if...