There is always madness in dreams, in which I keep whatever crazy things I love to have; dreams, as I know, can be borderless big.
I save all my dreams inside each of the tiny mushrooms. I have shared, but certain parts of them are password-protected.
I perceive dreams while walking, talking and writing. I can so plot and play them, and replay them.
And suddenly when I replay a sweet one, I shall smile, yet no one in the crowd will notice. This is the beauty of life.
And I always appreciate this beauty of life.