The brush of your steps.

This post was inspired from reading Ang Lee's essay (translated thanks to Irene Shish here ) and Irene's other post on dreams. I actually found both of those links from a question asked on Quora that had a number of incredible answers, feel free to check that out here . You stretch out your body and jump, reaching as far as you can but that dream you jumped for floats away. You begin to fall deep into the abyss, zooming farther and farther away. You're in tears because you were so close and now you've gone past ground zero. Your dream is nowhere to be found. Gravity is omnipresent, you will fall. You will hit the ground because you've failed. You have not been successful at making that dream come true. Then you backtrack. You rewind to the moment when you were in thin air and your body was fully stretched reaching for that thing you love so much and that's when you realize... you're the one telling the story, you're the one making your dreams. Sudde...

The rays of light were on vacation, The stars blocked by our civilization, There was nothing to see, but in your mind, There was clarity, there was a reason, a motive to be. In thin air the friction ignited, the rays were back at work and the gentle curves of this newly lit match blazed your sight with opportunity, An illusion of discovery was born. No longer did you feel your way around, Feeling was no longer necessary, The rough walls were avoidable because now these rays were your guiding stick. Rotation after rotation it became commonplace, With our vision defined and our emotions behind We walked the easy path, the one whose shape we did not make. Your sensitive feet lost their touch, The road was paved and unobstructed, You zoomed past it all with no consideration, No longer did you greet the world with touch. Somewhere along the lines, vision made you blind, so close your eyes and realize in time, There was a reason, a motive to be.

It's game time. The clock is ticking, and you've been sitting around hoping things would get done. Sitting around hoping and dreaming that maybe some day something would fall out of the sky and fall onto you served on a golden platter. You weren't even holding the golden platter -- you were too busy pawning it off for pennies that quickly dwindled because you didn't realize that life was about experiences, not material goods. No one was born to be successful. No one was born to win their awards and to triumph above all. Those people don't exist. Those that were born into money are unfortunate because it is often more difficult for them to realize what struggle is. You were born into those struggles and hurdles, you were born to fight every moment that was going to end your dreams before they even began. The moment you stop fighting, the moment you lose that encouragement, remember that this is all you've got. You have one life, not five. You don't get...

How do you tell your heart to stop being hopeful, so you can move on, get some sleep, and convince yourself that it just wasn't right when you knew it was meant to be. I feel frozen in time, begging for a better moment, I compulsively want to write you stories and thoughts, tell you everything that's going through my mind, but I step back, a cordial greeting is all I've got. The personality has been stripped away and all we're stuck with is hello friend, or just goodbye. With a dark smudge at its end, the very definition of a period makes me cringe, this is final. Our messages our counted, every one of them gets closer to the last one, I'm losing the urge to write, with hopes that when I tuck myself in, my heart stops asking why. My mind knows it well and has gone through it thirty times just this morning. It knows that you felt this was right. It knows that you are suffering just as much, but that our hands can no longer touch. At every vi...