what chasing a dream is like:
they tell you that you can’t go home unless you’ve mapped the trajectory of a block in free fall like phloem in your veins with your last finger, and memorised the sensation of flowers wilting in your lungs just so that you know where chasing the unattainable leads to.
and when you leave the room, you’re bound by light sleep and street lights with the soles of your feet digging into the ground like deadweight as you stumble into a blind search for the critical point where the derivative stops taking soft breaths, where they all say you’ll turn around and find your flight log planned and set.
it’s also where your consciousness tumbles into a combustion reaction with air hitching in your parched throat, held and finally released as a sudden wake up call where it’s no longer a game of loading plastic guns and keeping a second-hand mini knife in the pocket of your sweater.
maybe it feels like you’ve traversed against the soft breeze alone, carrying a cacophony of beliefs and ideals on your slumped shoulders, but another part of you is quick to realise that you’ve barely made any progress with the prickling intertwining of your fingers with your faint shadow.
and perhaps at the end of this, when you’re given a fresh sheet of paper on a cold morning, you’ll be able to trace the trajectory of the block in free fall and smell the overwhelming scent of lost daffodils at the first try because this isn’t a game where the objective is to chase anything you deem worth.
this is a game where you learn when to give up on a dream that’s pulling you down.
even if you’d die for it, just so you don’t lose.