The Hearts of men

They seem invincible from the outside, as if nought will affect them. Dependable, strong willed, able to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders, like Atlas, but are they really so strong?

behind that almost impenetrable armour lies a soft beating heart, delicate as a lotus petal.

I never realised how much my father meant to me till I learned of his hospitalisation. Call me heartless but while at home his illness was nothing more than a break from his strong presence.
He is no self-effacing man, his emotions tend to affect us all, whether anger or joy, it permeates even the walls of the house.
I just wish I could be as close to him as my sister so effortlessly is. I suppose we are far too fiery in our nature to be able to stand one another for too long. Yet he is the one who understands me the most, not my mother as I thought for so long. She has too many expectations, while he although has those expectations is willing to suppress them to see how far the seed will travel before it flourishes.

My father the fiery iron-man has a soft heart beating within that rusting cage. A heart filled with dreams which shall never be.

Men are funny creatures. One expects them to be tough and realistic, yet a part of them is filled with romance that would make Mills and Boons blush scarlet. They hide dreams of love everlasting, yet write soppy poetry overbrimming with fairytale endings.

Oh Lord of My heart protect their soft hearts and guard their dreams from harm and heart brake.

dreams, dreams and more dreams

Days and nights spent dreaming dreams big and small, from the most fanciful to the most mundane, come back to haunt me.
I am by nature more of a dreamer than a do-er, I could happily waste entire days doing nothing but buidling castles in the air, which is most likely why I am where I am today.

Dream you should but one cannot live in ones dreams, for they are but mere fictional creations of overactive minds. They have no place in the cold reality of this world.

My dreams often take back in time to parallel universe where life is so much different from what it truly is.

Am I wasting my time dreaming of the impossible?

Well honestly the answer cannot help but be ambiguous.
Of course I am wasting precious hours I could spend learning new things, yet at the same time this is the only way I keep sane. I find it hard to cope with life in general but to add to my woes Latvia is proving even more depressing, not due to itself or its people more the combined effect of school, my inability to concentrate for very long and my dislike of what constitute the society of foreign students.

I guess my answer to loneliness and failure is and always has been the escape provided by my dreams.

I wish now to escape from those dreams which have buffered and conforted me for so long.

Dream, Dream fly away to the land of the sandman, and come no longer to fill my days and nights with thy sweet fragrance.