The Clichéd Dream

My soul is burning a million colours in a city of grey. Every train ride through the skyscrapers reminds me of how much is out there that I am not seeing, not feeling. I want it, so badly I physically ache.

It pulls against me towards a horizon somewhere I can’t see. It makes me so afraid that I feel sick imagining following it through. So scared that I keep it inside, lie to them all, to myself that I am happy. I am fine.

But then I see it. I hear it in a song, I see it in the sky, read it in a book, and I feel it. Then I know it’s what I was born for. I know it in every fibre of my being. I know it because against the odds my heart jumps every time I see it, every time I watch it.

Because even though the thought of rejection brings tears, I can fight past them and I still want it. Even though no one told me I was good enough, I am still willing to try. Because when I do it I finally feel alive.

Because every day I am not following it I’m living a lie I can never commit to. I sleep until one to because when I sleep I can dream for longer and in dreams I am free.

I dream of stepping off that comfortable ledge and jumping into an abyss, not knowing whether I fall or fly, but not caring anyway because I was finally doing what I loved. Letting my heart rule my head, and not dreading my life, but embracing it, being excited for it. Even if I fail at least then I know that I tried.

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