The first dream
by Sebastian Jacobsen, Dreamer
The Market of Dreams
In the market of dreams, the air smells of mango and moonlight, stalls shimmer with starfruit and silver figs, and merchants trade in laughter, not coins. A handful of glitter weighs more than gold here, and the breeze hums secrets of what could be. You walk between stalls of possibility — a basket of ideas in one hand, a touch of fairy dust on your sleeve, buying nothing, yet leaving full.
