“We never knock, for nobody’s there / Just me and my shadow, all alone and feeling blue.” – Billy Rose
Dreams are clouds… hanging so low in the sky you think you could just almost reach out and grab a fluffy piece for yourself, but really we’re grasping at nothing at all. Why is the sky blue? Why are our oceans blue? Why are the meadows green, and gradually changing shades of yellow, orange and red hues, then withered brown? What are we doing right, and doing wrong at the same time?
Each smile, an upturn at the curve of lips, painted light coral pink with a dewy hint; what’s really underneath? A mother’s aching heart, a father’s troubled mind. A lover’s worry, a child’s innocence. It’s been a long while since I’ve knocked on any doors. If I do, will you let me in?