Dream with me and live without me
Tomorrow might be just a fantasy
And apologising to me will be a courtesy
Dancing around the pieces of our broken dreams
Might help you to forget me. Go on and heal.
The truth might be buried deep
But the heart sees
Beneath the lies,
Begin the new trip. And trip over yourself
In the process
Because pain now means less
That is a new Yes.
Wondering what could happen or would happen if I was able to change one moment of my past. A fracture of a memory transforming into the stepping-stone of my shiny future.
By altering one little piece of the events-chain could I create something so magnificent that the crowd around me would freeze for a lifetime? They would become the cold greyness and I would be the blazing red flame hurting the sight of the blind. Faces would be converted into paintings, eyes into mirrors and speech would evolve into a silent movie. I would soak up this vision and believe that what I had done is truly remarkable. Perhaps I would congratulate myself and throw a victory-smile to the negativity that has been trying to sneak into my shadow. After the shoulder patting what’s left for me to do is to unfreeze the ones with the flickering eyes inviting them to take a look around while holding onto the hands of my soul, slowly understanding where the alteration took place.
But I have no power to change what’s already done. I am where I am; I am who I am because the chain is unbroken. Each piece has taught me a lesson, arched a smile onto my face and witnessed me at my worst to become my best. Each memory-scar gave me stronger fighting skills and every moment contributed towards my ability to stand up always one more time more than falling down. So why would I change anything that I can be thankful for? Why would I be wishing to miss out on opportunities that came from behind closed doors? Every lived second was leading me to cross new paths I otherwise would have missed.
Embrace your past but remember to take your sight off it if you want to be excited about your next step.