The Dream Maker and His Glazed Lamp

"Three Thousand Little Worlds"

I am a dream-maker, and I am a scavenger.

Once, moonlight's fibers flowed through my fingertips. Now, all my writing holds is the roughness of stone, the ashes of rouge, and the coldness of the ice pressed against my heart, so stubbornly cold that I can't warm it.

I collect every dream crushed beneath the heel of the world, grind them to powder, mix them with oil, and make new stories.

If you hear apricot blossoms budding between your ribs, don't be afraid. That's me, hurting in your place.