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Life is but a dream

I’ve always had a hard time finding out where exactly the thin line between dream and reality lives. Waking up from realistic dreams to a dreamy reality. Summer in December, Christmas parties in bikini. Serving coffee feels familiar, but the ocean swims before and after work are fresh and new. Cold waves to clear the clouds surrounding my sleepy head.

Reading books opens up a whole other reality (or dream?) so whenever I dive into Patti Smith’s latest book, I’m floating back to early mornings in Santa Cruz. Watching the sun rise, reading poetry in cocktail bars, many verve coffees and conversations so inspirational they transported me to different realms every time we spoke.

The past is always present in my life, I love travelling back to places in my mind and heart and linger there for a while. Like this, every journey is only really lived in the future, when I look back at it and observe the details I remember and try to grasp the ones I forgot.

December is for time travels anyway, usually winter envelops me and forces me to hibernate. To stay in one place and travel within. New Zealand celebrates long hot summer days so my body is happy but my mind confused. My Belgian rhythm craves cosy evenings under blankets and lots of sleep. Life on the other side of the globe loves to shake that rhythm up and takes me on road trips, beach days, early sunrise swims. Coconut water and sunburn. And just like that, life is but a dream.

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