How can we dream of changing someones life?
Or even that our dream will catch fire with meaning?
The things we wish for most impossible. We want to leave our mark, to be remembered, to be worthy and great. Yet these things do not come so swiftly. So unlike their counterparts of obliteration, forgotten gravestones, and corruption. Fate holds all of us in it's personified hands, and chokes us into dust. Where we are sprinkled to fertilize the next generation.
If I am lucky some will visit my headstone. Perhaps a witty quote will be engraved upon the marble. Reading something far too clever for me to have penned. Those who visit will stand in resolute reminisce. But they will be reminiscing on an older version of myself. Maybe a wiser version of myself, but never me. I will be hollowed out and shaped into a tamed form by my work, children, weariness. These grave visitors will never have run next to me in a high wind and been sheltered by my silhouette . They will never dance with me in the moonlight, or discuss the future with me whilst sitting on bar stools. They will never contemplate alternate realities or alien life forms. They will never compare romantic relationships, nor dreams, nor dances. If any of these visitors will have been with me through those things, they will no longer remember. Gray hair will have made them drop their memories.
All I can hope for is that the future will be a little bit better because of me. And I am venturing out on this quest for greatness knowing full well that I would never be able to achieve it on my own. Although a traveler I may be, I need a compass and some company. And if there is to be any success it will not be mine. For I am not my own, but belong. Wholly and completely.
May my ashes be spread,
in a flower bed
where they might intermingle with the essence of the sky
and learn to ever sleep.
For I am not a body with a soul, but a soul that happens to have a body.
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