do you dare to dream?

He remembered the day well: the day he heard that he who holds the dreams holds the keys. That was the day he forbade himself to ever dream again.

Now, this might seem like some silly notion of your average schoolboy, but, schoolboy or otherwise, this one was neither silly nor average. He was the kind of boy others sat up and took notice of. Books stood at his command, begging to be pulled from the shelves and understood in some new, enlightened way. Little girls gave him a wide berth out of respect and awe they couldn't quite place.

They knew it wasn't the valor of the star athlete. Neither was it the authority of the class president or the teacher's pet. Closer still, but not quite there, was the reverent fear of the trouble maker. Devoid completely of the over-slicked salesman.

In essence, he contained all of the bravery, ingenuity and intrique and none of the qualms. And no one knew why.

He knew why. He was the boy who refused to dream and, therefore, having no dreams to lock him in, could always live free.

Little did he know that dreams, wont as he was to dismiss them, are things that can't help but exist. And exist they did...in the deep recesses and insulated caverns within. Wall to wall to wall the dreams meet and share. They bend and shape. They intertwine and recreate each other. In the end, they can not help but converge into an exploding kaleidoscope of what could have beens and never should have beens and what ifs and what was thats and that just can't bes.

But for now, they simmer. He is not as yet aware of all that he has banished from his awarness and how that will forever change his life.

and soon.