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away
like a helium balloon. My
dream was something to do with what I’m doing now, surprised? Actually, to
put it precise, I wanted to be a writer. When I was young I wanted to be a
children’s writer. When I hit thirteen I decided all children’s books were
patronising. And by this stage, I don’t know what I’m doing at all. I don’t
want to be a children’s author and really having read enough decent fiction,
I’ve realised, “I’m not that special.” So for a long time, I licked my
wounds, telling myself I’d become a great writer, someday. It’s
not going to happen, so I’ve given up on it. The way a teenager ‘gives up on
love’ the first time they get dumped. I have given up on dreaming. This is
the requiem for my dream. I’ll
make you a coffin, my dream, I’ll close you in nice and tight. I’ll leave you
with a single tear so you aren’t alone. I’ll
make you a boat, my dream, I’ll push you out into the sea, with a little
candle in your center and wait for it to go out like your light went out
within me. I’ll
write you a sonnet and wrap you up in it, then send you to myself and hope
that when I open up my envelope I’ll understand you again. I
know this is all metaphorical because my dream is already gone but I could do
so many things to mark your end. I
thought this was the most fitting way to say goodbye though, in the spirit of
the dream I lost, here is your requiem. Requiem
for a Dream. Is
the dream gone, or not? |
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Requiem for a Dream |