When a city closes its eyes at the end of the day, I wonder, does it dream? Do the thoughts and conversations of the previous hours marinate in the deepest part of its mind before blossoming into life as the imagination awakens to a world of possibilities? Sleep shakes off the weariness of the day and dreams the dreams not dared dreamed when the sun still ruled the sky.
What does it dream about? The complications of managing it? The people pushing it toward what they believe it should be? The policies and rules surrounding its operation? Maybe. On a bad night. Those are what we call nightmares.
On any other given night, I think it dreams the dreams of the common. It dreams of music, of poetry, of art. It dreams of deep meaningful conversations shared over tea, of friendships birthed and friendships matured. It dreams of walks in the park, of hikes in the mountains.
It dreams of dreams.
When a city closes its eyes at night, I’d like to see the dreams it dreams.