Lamenting Over Dreams Come True

Walking through, below and around the marvels of a world far gone, of genius left behind, of greatness, succumbed to the lashes of time, it occurred to me that only to see these places with my own eyes was once a dream. Has it come true? I do not know. Dreams do not come true; they only disappear and get folded into reality. Dreams only exist until you cannot differentiate them very well from reality. From that point on, it is but life. Unlike our days or the rest of our existence, dreams do not have a moment where they are happening. They instantly become memories. In the precise moment you achieve whatever you dreamt of, you begin missing the yearning, the want, the hours and days you spent thinking of what would happen if it ever came true.

My dreams have come true, but at what cost, for I have lost them. One might say it is a blessed life, for much of what I dreamt of not more than a decade ago has already begun to happen. And they will be correct. But they will not know how burning too fast through that list has its challenges. You cannot dream as quickly, and suddenly, you find yourself in a life with a dearth of the impossible. As I sit here, having become who I always wanted to be, it occurs to me the truest dream is the one that can never come true.

Writing the first book takes you a lifetime, but writing the second takes you a deadline. That is how dreams work, too. The first few that come true simmered for years, maybe even since you were not as privy to the world’s ways. Then, you learn how to dream, and therein lies the problem.

I continue dreaming, but all my dreams are curtailed to fit within the curtains of reality. The more dreams come true, the more realistic the others begin. No longer do I dream of pink skies, for I know they cannot exist. Instead, I dream of a day not too far from the one I have right now. I dream of love, but not an impossible, colourful one, just the one that will stay by my side for the longest possible time. No longer do I dream of the unreal.

Grateful as I am for all the gifts I’ve received, I wish I could dream of impossibilities again, but I cannot; I do not know how anymore.

Time has marred and blemished it all.

This piece was first seen on The Soaring Twenties Social Club (STSC) as part of an addendum to the Symposium on Dreams, which I had missed because (and fittingly so) I was walking around in one of mine.

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