I had big dreams when I was a kid. Kid dreams...dreams of flying, of saving the world and animals, righting wrongs, putting injustice in its place, but like an early morning mist, they evaporated under the burning light of reality.
Every now and then something reminds me that once I had dreams. I even get glimpses of what they were but a jaded pair of eyes ordered my cold heart to pluck the dreams from the skies of my mind, place them in a box, shove them in a closet and lock the door.
My dreams may have been childish then, but they have grown, laying in the box hidden in the darkness. They didn't die, but wait for my soul to awaken, like a bear emerging from its winter hibernation when the snow begins to melt, flowers begin to bloom and birds begin to sing again, so they may be free again.
But I don't know where I put the key.