There are many things that can be talked to death. Dreams can wither and die if they are pondered upon for too long at a time. When we sleep we dream, and those dreams are never still. There is always an action going on. We do something in them. That is what dreams are for. Dreams give us something to reach for, an idea about a change we want to make, something special we want to do.

When dreams die, we die. Not a physical death, though that is of course the most severe consequence of losing our dreams. We lose our way in life, and it becomes dark and unfriendly, and some of us cannot bear it and decide to end everything.

That is not how life is supposed to be. There are not enough talk about those things only a dreamer would allow themselves to think about. The bohemians talk about love. They dare to dream of the things that can rock our very core. Artists dare to dream the unthinkable. The creatives live to see the worlds that exists beyond this world. Life should be poetry in motion.

This is how a novel should start. With love. The clearest dream of them all is about love. The love for life and what it represents. We are so surrounded by death that most of us find it normal to watch lives being utterly spent without consideration for what that means. In the news we hear about 10 people dying in a bombing. We shrug our shoulders and the number ten just fades into the background. But all of those people had dreams. Dreams about a better life for themselves and their loved once, a life away from poverty or war. And yet it seems we all engage in wars at every level of the word. War is somehow become a way of life, and stories about a peaceful community like Atlantis or Avalon is just legends, myths, something of the imagination. But if we can imagine should stories, they must be true. When the first human being was killed by another, it must have started somewhere?

Now we live in a society that glorify violence and killing, only they are rebuked in order to protect our society, but not until it is too late. And if the murder is horrible enough, or if you are born of the wrong race and family, we can sentence death upon that person. But isn’t it already too late? The life has already been taken? Where is the talk about dreams before violence and desperation takes over? Because the reality is that most murders isn’t by cruel and evil human beings, but by people who have been torn away from their selves and tossed into a despair that turns love into numbness.