We dream. We hope. We believe. We hope so more. We keep hope alive.
Until it dies.
Because it can. Yes, we live to keep at it — no matter the cost. No matter how long. No matter how tired we get from endless work and the trials and tribulations of chasing something that we see so clearly but yet can’t reach without over stretching to the point of madness.
What if your dreams never come true?
How many douses of liquor would it take to numb the bitterness that creeps in as you scroll past the lucky ones — dressed in their version of you.
How will you massage your aching heart into beating without blimps when the countless rejections and golden “maybes” stop filtering your vision on ghostly command.
Will you make it through the days without numbers and colored labels as reminders of what the moment failed to yield.
Dreams belong to the mind in recline.
There are possibilities and too much freedom. The fields run over and you never trip and fall even when you see so clearly and reach for it.
It’s in your grip and you open your eyes with glistening brows and the urge to race the world.
Back to the tracks you go. Back to the bedazzled slammer that traps the weaver who created the cycle of maddening glory.
Dreams should never come true if it means the permanent loss of sight.
Seeing is believing. Keep looking.