True, I talk of dreams,Which are the children of an idle brain,Begot of nothing but vain fantasy.– Mercutio, Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, Act 1 Scene 4
I find myself questioning and being introspective of late… the questioning hedging on a level of cynicism I haven’t had in a while yet blended with a naive hopefulness.
Perhaps it has to do with the loss of a friend, death is always cause for contemplation.
Perhaps it has to do with the concept of family, as my husband and I discuss our future with children.
Perhaps it has to do with my aspirations and my inability to see where the road leads.
In my heart of hearts I know I do not yet want to know. So instead I will dream.