Most dreams are out of your reach.
But you dream them anyway, even
though they leave you more lost and
miserable, amidst the rubble of your
troubles, than if you had let them go,
knowing they were a no show.
Life is a stormy road. You head for
a dead end as soon as you begin.
Somewhere in the middle you start to
understand that you are a stranger in
a no man’s land where no one speaks
your language and no one understands.
It is the same for everyone. Yet passion
burns and souls yearn and while dreams
die they live again. There was lots of
whiskey, warm friends, loving women,
starry-eyed children eager to begin.
I’d do it again.

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