Dream Big

I make myself a promise: if I dream — then I dream big. I need to call a meeting: how to get rid of the corpse smell and polish the chambers till they shine, so the dream, murky in the reflection, not recognizing her charms, in shock, will say out loud — "Look how big I am!" Having grasped her magnificence among a bunch of skinny girlfriends, who for years only blindly believed her, despising her for her chunky frame. I make myself a promise: to fatten up my faint heart. Protein and a side of veggies and ice cream, the very best. I promise that my feelings, so wasted away, won't live half-starved anymore. That the endless chill will be over. Yes, dreaming is an art too.