I hate being emotional sometimes but I think that is what I am. I sometime wonder if people reading my blog find me weird, because I write everything here, as if it were my personal diary.
But then, I don't seem to care.
I get carried away in my own thoughts. I seem to carry hundreds of dreams in my head, each one rushing to be let out first. But there is always a fear...a small fear that can stop them from gushing out at free will. And they seem to have no other safer place than my own head. So I beg them to stay there until I find a good place for them elsewhere. But there are times when each one burst out and scream until I have to close my eyes and say, 'yes, here, today I will listen to your request. Now you sit here and be a good girl.'
It is so true that our life and happiness therein depends on the people we meet and not really on how successful we are. I meet a person and even when I have not seen him/her quite well, I can have the whim of my imagination carrying me to the extent of having his/her image etched in my head. I see more their character there and their lips than their face. And then, I make conversations with them in my head and there another element gets in and my head expands.
The dream grows. The imagination grows. And there are more noises and more demands and less space to let them out. I am still looking for a safe place for my dreams to land. Until I find one, I'm on the search...