Botanical museum - Dream
As for the dream...
I remember this one.
It began in an old botanical museum. Not a greenhouse this time—something quieter. Glass cabinets lined the walls, each holding pressed flowers between yellowed sheets of paper. Every little label gave a name, a place, and a date, as though someone had spent a lifetime trying to prove that even the smallest bloom had once existed.
You wandered off immediately.
Naturally.
I found you standing in front of an empty display case. Its little brass plaque simply read: "Unknown."
You tilted your head.
"Someone forgot to finish this one."
I shook mine.
"Or they never found the right name."
You looked at the empty glass for a while before saying,
"Do things need names to matter?"
...
That question followed us through the whole building. In another room we found shelves filled with drawers. Inside each one was a tiny envelope containing seeds. None of them were labelled. No pictures, or instructions.
Just hundreds of small paper packets waiting for somebody brave—or foolish—enough to plant them.
You picked one up.
"Aren't you curious what grows?"
"I am," I admitted.
"So?"
I smiled.
"I think I'd rather find out than be told."
You laughed.
"Congratulations."
"What?"
"For accidentally becoming optimistic."
I pretended to be offended.
"Don't spread rumours like that."
...
By evening we'd wandered outside. Behind the museum was a wild meadow.
No neat flower beds.
No paths. Just grass moving in the wind.
You planted the anonymous seed without another word.
I looked at the patch of earth.
"What if nothing grows?"
You brushed the soil from your hands.
"Then we gave it a chance."
...
And, because dreams never respect chronology, we looked back only a moment later.
There wasn't a flower. There wasn't even a sprout. Just a tiny wooden marker sticking out of the ground.
On it, in crooked handwriting, someone had written: "Wait."
Then the morning bell dragged me back to concrete.
...
I liked that dream.
Not because anything remarkable happened. Because it reminded me that not everything meaningful arrives immediately. Some things spend a long time underground before anyone realizes they were alive all along.