Are my dreams visions of a fantasy or is my reality a fantasy splicing the reality of dreams? The only thing heavier than my eyes is the disappoint in my heart. Dreams are merely fantasy wrapped in the reality of the cold rain. Yet, we continue to sleep to dream.
Staring at the blank page reminds me of how empty I feel inside. You see, I drink white wine when the words are flowing and red wine when the words won’t come. The red wine clouds my mind and releases what I really feel inside.
I never wanted much for my life but to be great and know I made it. Money isn’t a thing. They say money doesn’t bring you happiness but I like drinking expensive wine and taking pretty ladies dancing and money helps me do both of those things.
I found the hard way that “Till Death Do Us Part” just doesn’t pertain to physical death. We experience, we learn, we grow, and even forgive but we never forget. How could I? After all, the two closest women in my life haunt me in my dreams. What you represent – my failure, my insecurities, my inability to see. Those days are over, but I know what they represent, they opened my eyes and on those occasions that’s when I really learned to see.
I attempted to make the world a better place than I found it and I tried to give back. I found the true wealth of a rich man is experience, kindness, and humility. I can’t take any tangible objects with me to the grave but a show of how many people you touched and show up to your funeral service separates the richest men that were alive.
I remember those days. The world was like my oyster and a wide-open hinterland to the depths that even Cousteau could not go. But, I was ready. The pearl lay ahead and it gleamed just like the light in my eye. Those days were filled with hope and Great Expectations were more than the words on a page but a promise that had been laid. Getting high meant just one more rung of the ladder left to climb. In those days, everything was done as a way to the golden egg.
These days remind me of how we are a slave to the grind. These days, my candle burns faster and my pearl has been translated into sand. The sand runs through my fingers and no matter how quickly or tightly I grasp, it escapes from the palm of my hand. In these days, I don’t long for those days. I long for the hope and anticipation held that would make these days the product of the dreams that were laid in those days.