The notebook fell open

On the page

That listed her dreams

She surveyed them now

A list that had grown

Longer over the years

With many different wishes

How many had she ticked off

How many had she crossed out

A wry smile crossed her mouth

As she read

Some so fanciful, obscure

Some so banal, simple

Many were not hers

Rather, constructs of a society

That had had her believing

Conditioned to what was success

So many pages in this book

Held ideas, images, plans

Many no longer resonated

Felt foreign to where she stood

In the world now

She realised why

These dreams had come from her head

Not her heart

This was the reason

They had not come into being

Remained just dreams

She closed the book

And tossed it into the flames

It was not her

They were not her dreams

She no longer needed to fulfil

The dreams of others

Or fit a mould that felt

Tight and constricting

She then ran her hand

Over the cover

Of her new book

Promised herself that this time

Her dreams would come from her heart

In doing this, she felt sure

That they would manifest

Into her reality

Straight from her heart centre

Into her world

Into being

She opened the cover with excitement

And began the alchemy

The magic, the dreaming

Of her hearts passion

It was time......

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