Broken Dreams

In the early morning hours, if I'm lucky enough to wake, I can still feel the cool air brush up against my skin, the dew lightly slapping my ankles with each step I take and the rising sun beaming down upon my unsuspecting cheeks as I walk quietly to wherever I am heading. Slowly it reminds me of broken dreams, dreams once whole now filling my head with the tragic inevitability of the life I had before and the life that comes back as a beautiful but haunting memory of times past. It beckons me to seize each moment with a joyful sadness and gives me the heart to find a new passion once more.

But as I inevitably remember the best thing that never happened to me, I begin to realize that anticipation is the purest form of pleasure and the most reliable. Dreams come and go quickly, but the ones that hold a true and deep meaning don't always come true. And while the things that happen to you would invariably disappoint you, the things that never happen to you would dim, but would never fade and would always be engraved in your heart with a bitter but sweet sadness.

It sounds cowardly, but it's one of those profound revelations that I've come to realize every time a dream passes me by.