Dark dreams, dreams of love.
Dreams of hope, and haunting dreams.
She read them all...
After a night of dreams, everyone went to her,
just as she knew they would.
They wanted answers. And she had them.
For she was the interpreter of dreams.
She listened to them as they talked to her dreams.
And she read their faces, she laughed, she cried,
she gasped and felt the dreams like they were her own.
And so like that they got their answers and they passed the dream to her.
They needed her...but the truth was she needed them more.
She asked for no money, nor the gold
All she needed was for the dreams to be told.
For she was the interpreter of dreams.
You see, she had no dreams of her own. But she always had theirs.
Their dreams would hold her as she worked.
They would feed her, cajole her.
And when the darkness of the night would befall her,
they would hold her close so could sleep without loneliness.
But then something happened. Unexpectedly?
She felt something new. A new desire. Hope.
And slowly the people stopped coming. And so did their dreams.
The nights became unbearably lonely.
The people dreamed theirs dreams, but never came to her.
Had she lost the ability to feel theirs dreams.
Was she no longer the interpreter of dreams?
As she lay one night, no ones dreams to coax her to sleep.
For the first time in her life...she dreamed a dream of her very own.
And she became the interpreter of her own dreams.
