‘Dreams can either be the most terrible or most wonderful of all experiences, God has ever created.’ The turtle slowly opened his sleepy eyes.
‘Why terrible?’ I was taken aback at the turtle’s response. I thought he was a dreamer like me.
‘Dreams are terrible when they remain dreams. They try to survive by raising their delicate heads and breathing in the air of imagination. But a time comes when they die. And when they breathe their last, they lose their vibrant colors and turn into the grey dust of regret.’ The turtle said, sadly prodding the dry leaves littering the pale grass.
‘But I thought dreams were beautiful things –romance, adventure and imagination.’ I felt my legs weakening and I sat down on the pale grass besides the turtle.