Have a little too much of something terrible...

He thinks he cannot live anymore. That the light of his soul has been put out and that he will stay in the dark forever. But when he is engulfed by such solid darkness, when he has both eyes closed to the world, a third eye opens in his heart. And only then does he come to realize that eyesight conflicts with inner knowledge. No eye sees so clear and sharp as the eye of hope. After grief comes another season, another valley, another him. 

I know, I know. I've sent too many things into the universe and now am I bargaining with it for at least a few to come true, while in fact, none will probably see the light of reality. They're all such great fantasies though. Some of the best I've ever conjured. And even if they will probably never be found, I will keep them with me everywhere I go. I'll see them in the drop of water that falls into the ocean, in the high tide that follows the waxing of the moon, or in the morning wind that spreads its fresh smell; I'll see them in the symbols in the sand, in the tiny particles of rock glittering under the sun, or in your throbbing vein. How can my dreams be taken away, when I see them in everything?