What Dreams are Made Of_Part Seven: An Unchained Heart.

Sometimes life can feel like an awkward fit. Even on a day as bright as the snowfall that fell over the last three days, it was easy to slip into cold winter thoughts. That anything would come of his efforts seemed a more narrow idea now than ever. He had done far less today than he liked.

This was a journey without a haven. The drawings in piles, in sketchbooks in boxes, and pinned to the wall looked forlorn and unfinished. Dust gathered in the corners of the room. Despite attempt at order, he felt disheveled and detached. He could admit his weakness. Understanding himself was part of his strength.

An unexpected message from a friend was a welcome consolation to the offer he’d felt forced to turn down in the face of his need. The words reached across the years that had separated them. Something inside him awoke: perhaps the search for an unchained heart was not his alone. This didn’t take much thought. He knew it was true.

He went to the wall and chose a scene with a figure silhouetted on a hill. The note that he jotted below the border read: There are those of us that hear the heartbeat of the world and dance to its pulse; a few sculpt in sounds or paint with words; some even see pictures outlined in the stars and keep drawings of their dreams.

To be continued.