I am walking backwards with ease, finding this newness different. My eyes are of no use. They only see what has been; only my heart can imagine what could be.
I dream. I dream. I dream.
Realized dreams are little pieces of me lived out to their fullness, come alive through struggle and sweat, through hope and faith, through mere chance which oddly enough seems perfectly planned.
Planned chance? And the confusion rises again.
Endless struggle attempts to break me from these romantic ideals, but still I believe in them. Silly fool. You are just like the others, the ones you claim not to resemble. The ones you fight so strongly against. You are going to fall hard and you know it. But still you repress and still you hide, lying all the while to protect your heart. It is more fragile than they think. So breakable.
This will become a new thing, this false disbelief. Will someone please prove me wrong? Will someone please stand inches from my face and make me realize there is more. There is a better that has no painful end, no emptiness, no loss of heart.
So would you leave it, never risk it, never become the vulnerability that you very much want, but very much fear?
Dear man, good heart… no.
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