I want an endless collection of mason jars. I want to be a hoarder. I want to store all of my dreams in them, and put them on shelves all over the walls. I’ll light the halls of my house with the faint glow of each of my dreams. I’ll call myself a collector. When I have friends over, I can lean in and ask them; do you want to see something cool? Then I’ll show them that dream I had in first grade with the giant black and purple vortex in the sky.
I want to arrange them by how they affected me. I’ll put all the bad, realistic ones in the closets and in the crawl space. Nobody wants to see those, or remember them, but if you’re trying to hold on to all of your dreams, then you can’t throw anything out. All the most nonsensical and bizarre dreams can replace the magazine rack in the bathroom.
All of the dreams that made me feel weird and hopeless after I woke up, I’ll cover with curtains, and all the fantastic dreams that made me sad to return back to consciousness, I’ll line the boundaries of my bedroom with. The dreams I’m most moved by will be the first thing you see when you enter my home.
Certain dreams of sentimental value, I’ll share with people I know as a special gift, and hope that Wonder laminates their mind as they did mine. And anytime any of us aspires to adventure away from any of our lives– we can stare into the jar for a spell and revisit somewhere distant, somewhere secret, somewhere hidden, and somewhere beyond this universe.
Once you forget a dream, it is lost forever, so I’ll store all of my dreams in glass jars, so that I can always revisit them, and never forget any of them. I’ll dream away until there is no room in my home for anything but dreams.