Dreams are the last to let go
They’re the last to know
They don’t find out with the rest of us
But have to learn it slow
Of memories and longings
Of who and where and when
When they find out
New sorrow comes
With them all traces end
"These things--the beauty, the memory of our own past--are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers. For they are not the thing itself... Now we wake to find... we have been mere spectators... Our life-long nostalgia, our longing to be reunited with something in the universe from which we feel cut off, to be on the inside of some door which we have always seen from the outside, is no mere neurotic fancy, but the truest index of our real situation." C. S. Lewis ~ The Weight of Glory
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