A Stone and Two Birds

I was holding my dreams when a man walked up to me. He was of a similar build to myself and was covered in a black coat. 

"Are you gonna use that?" he asked. 

"I'm not sure." I thought it an odd thing to ask. 

"Can I use it?" 

"No, of course not." I replied. "They're mine and I'll keep them to myself, thank you." 

I did not want to be short with him, but I felt I had no choice. He was rude. 

"Well if you're not going to use them, you might as well let me have them."

"I am going to use them. . . Maybe."

"Then let me make use of them until you decide." 

"No. No I will not. I have slaved hard over these dreams. I have sweat tears, bled from my ears, danced my heart around them. Breathed them into gladness, shriveled from them in fear. . ."

"And you don't know if. . ."

"Given them my silence, inflated them with sunlight, let them eat me with laughter, embalmed them with my soul. No, I will not let you use them."

"All this and you are still indecisive?"

"No! Well.. yes. What if they break? They seem so fragile."

"And what if they're never used? They are as good as broken as long as you hold them. Let me have them."

"Why? You'll drop them and they'll shatter. You don't know them like I do."

"And I never will, but better break them through me then for them to fade on your shelf because you're to meager a man to use what you've made."

Now he had said to much. "What do you know of my worth? Insults are for the dull-witted numbskulls who care not for the dreams of others."

"As you just proved yourself to be one." He chuckled at me. Infuriating me all the more. 

"Well what of it?! You have no dreams!"

"Don't I?"

"No, of course not! Your hands are. . ," I stared blankly at his hands. He was holding my dreams. "Give them back!" I rushed at him and he skirted out of the way. He's a quick one. "Those are mine! I walked them through the. . ."

"Yes, yes. I know what you've done for these poor dreams." He tossed them lightly in his hands. "But what you don't see is right in front of you."

Steaming I looked down in haste. My dreams were still in my hands. 

"But. . . how?"

"My it's warm. Mind if I take off my coat?"

He was careful to keep my. . . his. . . whomever's dreams in his hands. 

"Understand now?" he asked as his coat dropped to the floor. 

I gaped at him. His clothes were mine. His eyes were mine. His dreams were mine. 

"No." I replied.

"Well then." He kicked his coat to the wall. 

A pause lingered. "Aren't you going to say something?" I asked. 

"No."

"oh. . ."

More silence. 

"Then what am I supposed to do?"

"Am I supposed to tell you?"

"I had hoped. . .  Why do our dreams look the same?"

"Because they are. Why do we look the same?"

"Because we are." I don't know how I knew this, but I did. 

"Then what good are dreams you never let fly?"

"Dead like a stone and two birds."

He smiled. "Like a life and a dream fall not from lack of wings, but from lack of trying."

We moved towards each other and our dream melded in between us. 

"Will we use our dream?" He smirked. 

"Yes." 

Then our feet left the ground and never returned.