The Stuff dreams are Made of.

We know who we are. 

Or at least we think we do at this moment. 

We walk alone because we prefer our own company. 

We photograph images of discarded items left stranded on the pavement. 

We keep them as reminders of…some sort of artistic inspiration.

We know who we want to be. 

The road has bumps, potholes, discarded dreams, hopes and memories, it makes it hard to keep on going. 

An open door can lead to a haunted house, a welcome mat to another reality. 

A discarded piano is a sad sight to witness. Once caressed to create a musical sequence, a dance, a soundtrack to one’s moment in time. 

Discarded and left in the rain. 

See the old man walking slowly, once caressed and loved. Dances, music and a voice for one’s time. 

Discarded and left…

We know who we used to be. 

We were the main attraction, the lead actor and the man of the hour.

We know who we once wanted to be. 

An inspiration, an artist of sorts and a voice to be heard. 

We walk, these days, head down or eyes focused on the road ahead. Not much road left, the bumps, potholes and discarded dreams. 

“It’s the stuff a life is made of.”