What is a dream but an illusion worth chasing?
A reality possibly worth creating?
A temporarily limitless vision?
For a minute my dream seems delectable and unsurpassable
until my mind shrivels it up with stories already known.
Whispers from within tell me that
this place is beyond my wildest imagination –
a reminder not to sculpt it with my thoughts.
I let my heart grab the reigns
and show me an ever-expanding horizon
as I watch the old dream vanish in a puff of smoke.
It was just a box, after all;
in retrospect, it is always too small.
A dream kept alive does not remain intact
if its job is to always push the boundaries of what if.
Though my mind knows this well,
my heart mourns the loss dramatically,
yet heals instantly in sprouting a new dream
more majestic than its predecessor.
Who am I without a dream?
Without the constant urge to imagine what is not yet seen?