Dreams defied

I believed I could fly. I believed I could touch the sky...Years ago I believed in many things. I actually had dreams and I imagined I could make them come true. Too much fantasy gone wild. Things don't always turn out the way you want them to. Or maybe they are just the way they should be, except we don't know it. And the landing can be tough. It could feel like a plane crash. You've survived but you can't get up on your feet and you have no idea how to go on. Too many questions and not enough acceptable answers. Flying... Such a wonderful dream and so irrational. Who wants to be rational?! It all comes down to emotions in the end. Did you feel the emotion you hoped for? Did you get what you wanted out of life? Can you get off the scene without regrets? Were the pictures worth the fight? Up in the clouds reality may seem a little blurred. Dreams and wishes come together in the endless horizon. So much beauty unlived...I hate landings. Back on the ground, I know where I left my dreams- they are too high up for me too reach. That is why I love taking off. I go for them again, hoping to reach at least one and carry it back to life... Mission impossible? I'm not an aeronaut. I lack the training. I haven't got the guts. Yet I can't seem to stop reaching for the sky. It is as if my soul is completely oblivious to my body's physical state. It rejects reality. It yearns for the clouds. The blue horizon, way up high over the clouds. All my dreams are there, illogical, ruthlessly irrational, poignant and cruel in their simplicity. It is as if they mock my inability to reach them. I'm scared of heights, did I tell you? Not just heights but that's besides the point. More like scared of living... Why? It's the constant fear of failure that makes me want to abandon it all and flee... for the stars! Who says life should be a permanent success? Who makes the rules? You don't like the game- please, feel free to get out...I don't like being told what to do. I despise expectations, comparisons, conclusions. And I don't like losing. The point here is that I might have lost the set before I actually started it. And then I might end up losing the game. Sooner than I planned. The crash was not a mirage. I am on the ground. And I can't get up. Too many wounds in the long run... I want to get up, I just don't know how to. It's my life, I'll figure it out. The fact that I really want to fly must mean something, right? Isn't it all about making an effort? Who cares about the results? Have I learnt my lessons? I wouldn't know. Up there, in my dreams, looking down at how I've arranged the pieces of my life, I might get insight into the story. Perhaps even see some answers. Landings are not all bad. I need to remember that next time I take off for the stars...