One wonders perhaps, what is a dream? Is it merely a flashing of images, things within your mind that play themselves out in a random order, a phantom of memories. A puppet on a lonely string, dancing poorly in the pale moonlight. It's only a shadow of it's former self, an apparition of things long past, long dead. The husks of memories long laid to rest, risen again to haunt the mind.
Perhaps, it is not that. Perhaps, it is the cycling of a mind to fit together the pieces of a day. To remember, to store. They say the mind goes into an overdrive when you're sleeping. Of course... this they is about as real as this dream. So... they could be credible... right? Either way, the cogs turn. The Puzzle pieces fall together. They snuggle against one another in a warm embrace locking arms. Of course, what's not important falls through the cracks, never to be seen again. To rot within the darker recesses of the mind, forgotten and alone. But, the lucky few that survive are made a part of something greater. A Collective mind, a whole being. Though... how whole is it really? Who's to say that bad memories don't get stuck in the works? A shoddy system it seems to be.
Perhaps, it's an idle mind's form of entertainment. A pastime to waste away the hours of dark slumber. Something to occupy the mind as it rests in darkness. Stories of fantasy, bravery, whatever the mind dares wander to. After all, the mind can reasonably come up with anything it knew. Anything it had once idly heard in state of awareness to use to pass the time, now, in the blackness of sleep. Stars dance, a rapid fever pitch as they swing back and forth. A bold hero stands against evil. A single soul against wast evils. Elsewhere, a woman prepares a blade for another would-be hero. She decided to take her father's place since he had no living heir. Yet, within another town over, a Dragon razed ti to the ground. Not a hero was around from the battle. The Villagers fought tooth and nail, and eventually, they won. But, not without great loss. A single person sat amoungst a pile of the slain. Crimson stained the world, at least for them. They were merely a child... clinging to the hands of their parents, begging them not to go. A Beginning... A Misfortune that would one day, be paid back in the prevention of something like this.
Perhaps a dream is none of that. Perhaps, it truly is the pursuit of a noble goal. The want to strive for greatness of some sort. To grab hold of destiny and tear it from the heavens. To take control of one's thread on the loom of that fickle thing called Fate. Her threads ever tangled in a web of chaos and darkness that was this world. But, for jsut a moment, one could grasp that thread on the loom an d change it's direction, push it into a new road. Perhaps that is a dream.
Perhaps, a dream is all of these... or perhaps... none of them. It's impossible to know, hard to tell. For a dream, well... we have yet to answer the question and we never truly can. The question you ask? It's a simple one. Perhaps... the easiest one... and yet the hardest to answer. Because... what be a dream? If you asked me, I'd say much different then one who stood next to me. For each of us... our interpretation is not wrong and yet... it's not right either. For, what is a dream? It could be nothing, but it also, could be something. Often we describe dreams as fantasy, folly, the thoughts of a mad man only with given context no one will listen to. Maybe those dreams pushed one towards greatness; towards a discovery. However... when that happened... it ceased to be a dream. It became real. So... was it ever a dream in the first place, or just something we were too blind or too ignorant to see until then? Who knows? We may never know, we may never understand. Perhaps, somethings are meant to be just out of our grasp, for us to never be able to train a light on.
Perhaps... a dream is what you make it.