Old dreams never really grow old. They simply morph. In those last few moments in which an old dream lies abandoned, it wiggles its way into the tight cocoon of unending hope. And just when you’ve stopped dreaming altogether, it emerges anew. Bright, colorful and vibrant. A new dream morphed out of the old, flying high up into the sky of endless possibilities, sustained on the colorful wings of a whole new passion.
~vagabond~ © 2009
