Hopes and Dreams

Hopes and dreams are wonderful food to live on. When I was a teenager I saw my first musical ever, My Fair Lady, and I loved it. I fantasised that I would be “discovered”, as I was walking down the street one day, and would be allowed to dazzle in the main part. Dressed up, I even performed it. I sang one of the songs in front of my parents, my dress rehearsal. It was a good thing I never pursued my dream, for I was too shy, even for a school performance. I could see it in their eyes. They were touched to bits by my singing. Because I was their daughter, and I looked so sweet. But for no other reason.
It was a swooning teenage fantasy. No real hope there. And it died in reality, where it belonged. My next dream was more realistic: I fell in love with P. and spent a few years imagining the most romantic love scenes. Eventually some of those came true, and others disappeared, because P. turned out to be a different person from my dream prince. But I learned to love the real man more than the phantom. In a way that was a dream come true.
A letter from a publisher caused my most recent hope. More hope than dream. They found the first three chapters of my novel interesting and requested me to send the whole manuscript. Yoopie! I have about two months in which to enjoy a state of controlled euphoria, in which to fantasise, and, well yes: hope. After that I may well end up with my bum, bang, on the ground again. That’s alright. I can live with that. But until then I intend to soar on wings of dreams!