@aurorion
"Do you have a dream?"
Constance gazed at the writing that haunted her as it drew her thoughts and took it wandering to that year, when youth was alive and yellow was the color that signified dreams.
The year when hearts were beating and dum was the sound of the sweat that beat within the veins.
"Do I have a dream?, maybe, maybe not."
Dream is a luxury I wish I still have, an echo from my depths saying I'm still alive. Oh how I wish to grasp it.
"Let me rephrase. Do you have a purpose?"
"Purpose?"
"Yes, purpose."
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