I have dreamed, and if you stripped me of everything else, I could clothe myself in my memories.

I have dreamed, but these are nothing compared to the glimmer of dawn when you have thought night has won.

I have dreamed, and these dreams are strange, as if someone else had scripted them, and cast me as the star.

I have dreamed, but so has everyone else, I think — though not all of us will confess just what.

I have dreamed, and when I awake, I wonder where I have been: such a wonderful place is this nowhere.

I have dreamed, but this life is full of things I could never have imagined, that dreams never dreamed.

I have dreamed, and dreams have all spit me back out, back into this world, for I have never belonged there.