I love Wisteria. There should be some here. The artist within the dreamer thinks the purple flowers would compliment the far off pink hills. But where would they hang? There is nothing.
Or is there? That old building is draped in purple. But it was not there a moment ago was it? Does it really matter?
Its a dream.
What a fine old building. Obviously long abandoned. I'm glad. This dream doesn't need people yet.
I'd love to explore that place. Walk through its dusty rooms. Smell the poignant odor of decay.
But I am glued to this spot. I will not explore this time.
Perhaps the next time I am here. And I have been here before. The hills may have been another color or perhaps there were people living in that flower covered building. Yes I remember them waving to to me, and I to them.
Who are they? They are long gone from this dream. Who am I? Merely the dreamer. No one of importance.
I sit and wait...
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