Sometimes, dreams come with a thousand expressions on a single face, or with a single expression on a thousand faces; they are both very familiar yet entirely different. The closer they seem to us, the farther they drift; as they approach, they recede, and as they recede, they draw near – dreams are paradoxical. They belong to the distant future yet exist in the present. The moment we attempt to describe them, they have already changed, and in their change, they seem more familiar than ever. Dreams are like millions of colours blossoming on the surface of a colour that has been banished from a single frame, torn apart by a storm exploding on the wings of a butterfly that has been consuming its life since the moment of its birth.