The Possible Dream

I woke up, not this morning, an hour after I slept at night. It was the wrong hour. After fretting over meetings I had the next day, my mind seemed to be settling down on a theme—the things I will never have in this life. The dreams I let go, the roads I walked by but didn’t take, the tangible jargons of my heart that would never be mine. The impossible. The irrational desires. Why dream that dream?
Come to think of it, I’m turning forty this year. It’s a wretched milestone that reminds me of how old I am and how less I may have. Let’s dissect this a little. By forty, I aimed to publish at least three of my books I have slogged, wept, and cussed at. Now let me be clear I ain’t content by publishing. It needs to be decent fiction. So here they are collecting dust. An impossible but such an achievable dream. So I counseled my mind to think of just one dream, I could latch on, believe in, only to forget everything I know for sure I will never have. I pinched my eyes, breathed guttural yoga sighs, and I saw red sand, rhythmic breaths inside a space suit on a planet I will never set foot in. But here I was inside my possible dream, one that could make me forget what I don’t, can’t, and shouldn’t have, one that took me away from planning my meetings before time, all because I freaking woke up at the wrong time. But one I could fool my mind into believing once again that in such a limited world, it’s the mind that makes everything limitless. Like God. We believe in something so pure, so lovely, never having seen the evidence of its existence. Religion makes the world go round. Beliefs run the world. Reality is fickle and fake. So build those castles. It may be the stuff of your mind that’s true as fake and shallow this real world we live temporarily in may be. Believe again. And sleep. At that ungodly hour called the night.