Dreams are voices from our psyche that tell us a story. A story of what we have lived, what we wish, and what we no longer have. Dreams can be pleasant; they can be uneasy. They can even be scary. But they're never real. And they are always about something we already know.

Then why does a red eyed boy dream about blue eyes and snowy landscapes, so unlike his home? Why does he dream about a skinny hand reaching out for help? And why does he feel desperate to reach out back and keep?

And why does a blond child with teary eyes cries when dreaming about tan, strong arms that will finally, finally save him and take him away? Why does he feel a warm sentiment when he dreams of green, and amber, and white?

Why does this toddler, so similar to his father, dream about feathers, blue lightnings of magic, a ferocious red dragon, a white ball of fur, and a shining star, bright and earnest hugging his heart?

And why does a little girl dream about all of these children? Why do they make her feel like home? Why does her heart give a little jump when he sees the amber eyes of one of them?

Dreams are wishes and desires. Dreams are realities that still live in our imagination, but that we wish will come true. Dreams we can shape. Dreams are whatever we want them to be. But dreams are also signs. And maybe the only way to wake up, is waiting until the dream manifests in the real world.

As for this world is nothing but a reflection of the dream, being the night dreams the reality.