Once Upon a Dream

Once upon a dream is how it began. A slight detour in my life of expectancy. There she was, a dream upon dream. The perfection of perfection before my eyes and what for me to do but try to grab it?

The days were long, the nights were light. How I craved to see you every night, and the discussions we had. What fire, what passion, what intellect. Impressed? Beyond, my dear, blown to pieces. Left unable to walk about the world in harmony any longer.

And so came the descent. The inevitable. My story and fate I’ve so kept. Perhaps what I knew all along and that which you could never understand. It was never meant to be. For either of us. It was all a hoax, a grand ploy of life to reach into our lives and upset the balance of things. Comfort you said, you were tired of being comfortable. How true. But what is wrong with the comforts you had? To toss away such gifts that we each had taken for granted? Oh but do I regret the time we spent? Of course not. But oh would I care to repeat this? I’m not so sure.

The half-life of love is forever they say. And here I stand at crossroads. How do I reconcile what I have lost? How do I move forward now that there is the end so close? Do I choose to continue loving? You? No. Or shall I sink into a dark deepness of void. I see a part of me chipping off, as with all ends. The gleaming part of love I held so dear to me. The part that so many had tried to tear off, to shatter to pieces. I held for so long. In wait. And thus it slipped from my hand and landed upon you. Then take it. For it is certainly yours. And leave me be, for I know this is no longer love. That this was never love. And this was just another lie I chose to believe.

When I stood in wait and trusted, I deceived myself. And had I listened to myself I perhaps would have kept the piece of me yet able to love. Had I left sooner. Had I the discipline to deny myself my worst pleasures. For perhaps it is not within a man to experience that what he wishes, but that which he needs. So let him wonder and wander about his minds of the possibilities and roads of his life. But let him not act upon these lest he wish to thrown away all that he needs. And in this let him accept his insanity. For no man can be content to not live that which he wishes to live. But for the sake of all, this is the only way for him to live at all in the world: in captive restraint, always upon a dream.

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