Sometimes dreams come with a thousand expressions on a single face, and with a single expression on a thousand faces; they are both very familiar and just as different. The closer they are to us, the farther they become; as they approach, they recede, and as they recede, they draw near – dreams are paradoxical. They are a distant belonging to today, and a present belonging to the distant. The moment we begin to describe them, they are already changed, and in their change, they feel more the same to us than ever before. Dreams are millions of color tons blossoming on the skin of a color banished from a single frame torn by a storm exploding on the wings of a butterfly that has long begun to consume its life since birth.