Many people talk about hopes and dreams; teachers, parents, friends, speakers, all voicing future and happiness and what we want for ourselves. Whenever asked, I always said I had no hopes. I had no dreams. No wishes, wants or happinesses. But like much I say, that is a lie.

I have so many dreams they'll make your head spin. Rich and heady dreams, like a good wine. Ones to wrap your finger around and dance, soft a slow with, a two step to a quick song. My dreams tangle their fingers in your hair and run you down a long alleyway, pull you up a tall hill and sit you in the grass, where you stare at the stars and reach for the moon. My dreams will capture you and shock you away, to where your eyes grow big and you gnash your teeth, tongue against cheek, blood in your mouth and tears down your face. My dreams break and repair like no other, and breath life and sorrow like smoke wafting from a small fire. My dreams will capture you like a naive little fawn, straying from its mother, frightened, scared, and caught in the clutches of a sharp toothed fox, looking for a good meal. My dreams are the whispering wind, which falls through your hair and sprawls on your shoulders, helter skelter and free.

My dreams are a secret, shared ear to ear, mouth and tongue and flying wings. My dreams are of the world, where I walk from this town. What I want is not a future. What I want is a world.

I want to walk down the streets of Amsterdam, staring at the flooded city as I stand by the canals, looking down empty streets of open windows and old, old buildings, a cigarette in my fingers as it is lit, but not smoked, breathing in the cool air as I live. Live, live, live.

I want to go to Germany and see the old castles, and sit in the forests and listen to the stories the ghosts whisper in my awaiting ears, yearning for their griefs. Drinking in their best lives lived.

I want to travel to Norway and taste the culture, drink in the life and just walk, for miles and miles.

Travel to Paris, the city of lights, and stand in the middle of the city and wish for nothing and everything, read by the waters, and speak to the streets.

I want to see England; stand in the towers and watch the sun rise, set, and die. Blink at the moon behind a foggy glass.

I want to see Greece; feel salty air on my skin as I walk the coast and dance in the water.

Travel to Reykjavik and watch the lights in the sky, swim in the aurora. See the color flit in my eyes.

See Italy; watch the sun fall like coins into my hand and kiss at my eyes.

Walk the streets of Vienna with a song in my head and not a penny in my pockets.

I want, so badly, to drink in Europe. Every pain, song, and sorrow, smile and grimace, to soak in my heart. I want love, laughter, and most of all, to feel.

My dreams will capture your soul and dig into your heart.

My dreams are mine and mine only. You cannot have them. They are mine.

My dreams are a secret. Shh. I have no dreams.