The stupid thing about dreams is that they are good only as long as they still are dreams. Once you get, in real, what you always wished to get hold of (that girl, that car, that degree, that bank-balance, that recognition), the magic is lost; gone.
Sometimes I think there is no greater joy than striving for something, for someone. There is no greater joy than dreaming.
Suddenly I feel like marrying someone so that every time I return home (which by the way hasn’t been finalized yet: the home I mean, not the marriage), I have that one woman to open the door (assuming she returned from work before me), who I can smile at, bang, talk to and listen to, feeling good about everything at the same time. And I already know that the idea of imagining a life like that is way superior to reality itself (if and whenever it happens). Reality gets boring after a while. Dreams don’t.
Happy dreaming everyone.