For my favorite dreamer, keep the dreams alive.
by Karin Boye Your voice and your footsteps fall soft as dew on my working day. Where I sit there is spring in the air around me from your living warmth. You flower in my thought, you flower in my blood, and I wonder only that my happy hands do not blossom into heavy roses. Now the space of the everyday closes around us two, like a soft, gentle mist. Are you afraid of becoming a prisoner, are you afraid of drowning in the greyness? Do not be afraid: in the everyday's innermost depth, in the heart of all life, there burns with quietly humming flames a deep, secret festival.
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