I have been born in the wrong time. I do not belong here. I belong in a time that is not-now, but never-is. No matter when I am, it is not when I should be. I know I should not be turning twenty in a couple of months. But I am, and there is nothing I can do about it. I know that I am far and away too young to feel as old as I do, and I know that normal twenty-year-olds don't have as many wrinkles as I do. I also know that I am far, far away from being normal, and wrinkles are the least of my worries.
I know that life sneaks up on you when you aren't paying attention, and I know there is little one can do about it. If you are constantly aware of Time, you become world-weary. Elsewise, paying no mind to the uncaring sands in the hourglass makes it nigh impossible to cope with changes that were obvious to those who kept an eye on the Clock. It is an inhuman balancing act, between aloofness and vigilance, and I cannot seem to keep everything in equilibrium.
I am far and away too old. I should not be turning twenty. I should be turning seventeen, and worrying about homework. I should not be worrying about not having a driver's license, or about transportation to and from work. I should not have to force myself to wake up, to promise myself that today will be better than yesterday. I should not have a soul that is so very tired of the way things are, and yet refuses to change.
I have a dream. One that takes on many forms, but all with the same message. A message that tells me that I am not where I should be, and that I must pull myself out of the quagmire that I refuse to see surrounding me. "You should not be here," the dreams say to me.
"You must get up, and change everything. Yours is a soul that demands change, and you are the vessel of that change. It is your duty to transform the world you live in, to make it as free and open as your soul demands. You must stop deluding yourself with the belief that gravity is something inescapable. No matter how often you fall, you must know, in your heart of hearts, that you can escape the powerful clutch of the planet. Know that others have performed this same feat, and know that you will do this, too."
And in the dreams, I know this. I know that I should stop forcing myself to stay on the ground. I know that I can easily sunder the heavy shackles that keep me grounded. I know that I should fly. I know that I can fly. I know that flying is what I am meant to do. In my dreams, I fly. Nothing can touch me, when I am airborne. I am free, utterly free, and my heart and soul sing with such a joy that I cannot bear to hear it end. But, because it is a dream, and dreams are for sleeptime, that joy must end.
The dream does not die, though. Because dreams cannot die, they can only be forgotten. This dream, though, is one that I can never forget. It is a dream that I have had so often that it is a part of who I am. Without this dream, I have no purpose. Without the dream, I have no beacon to guide me. Without the dream, I have nothing.
Without the dream, I am nothing.
I will never, ever, forget my dream.