Last night I dreamed wildly, in vivid colour and of particularly chaotic and strange subject matter. I woke up feeling drained, like I hadn't slept at all. There was a strange peace though. I dreamed of the place I was born, of people from my childhood whose faces or voices I have not seen or heard for a very long time. One face was that of the first boy I ever loved, almost a decade ago. We fell in love as teenagers, on horseback galloping through pine forests, watching cowboys and Indian films late into the night. It was that intense all consuming love that you have when you have never been hurt before. The love you love when your not afraid to give away your all. The sort of first love that ends in tears and misery and broken hearts, when youth and inexperience fail to help you through tough decisions, or be able to recognise and navigate through to safe waters. We have both moved on many many years ago, and speaking for myself am very happy and very much in love. Not before the learning of many more lessons and tears from the heart. My partner asked what did I think this dream meant, so I sat down began to write this. This dream was like making peace with my youth, with the memory of a memory. For in the dream the boy brought a beautiful woman to meet me, she was pregnant and they were getting married. We talked whilst it rained outside, and when they left I hugged them both goodbye. I will always love him, not only for the beautiful experience of youth we shared, but for the way the glory days and hard lessons of youth and innocence cannot be ignored or forgotten, for it is where your journey to find yourself and place in the world began. It shapes who you are, and how you maneuver your future adventures of the heart. Affairs of this kind are always particularly taxing, and the wounds take a long time to heal, but none the less they make us stronger.  Although we no longer speak, it was as if the dream came to give the message that will not be spoken. Don't worry for me, for I am happy.