The flower... was a fruit.
The birds that sang in his ear turned out to be bees that stung mercilessly.
The doe of his dreams ended up a buck that gave him nightmares.
The images that came at night, in sleep, were never what they seemed, and he couldn't get the hang of figuring them out. They always seemed so important to him, and yet....
And yet...
And yet, his dreams were forever misunderstood.