Dreams are but threads in the loom of the mind. Yet, some threads were never woven, merely imagined in the mind's eye, like a phantom limb reaching for what was never there. How ironic, the dreams of a carpet that never was!
In the vastness of our subconscious, we chase shadows of memories that have not been made. Ironically, these shadows grow clearer at dawn, only to fade once more into the ether. A satirical dance of presence and absence, like a well-timed joke none but the dreamer understands.