Where dreams die

 "Sometimes to get your life back, you have to face the death of what you thought your life would look like." 

                         _Lysa Terkeust, It's not supposed to be like this

The roaring humidity of my desert journey has murdered the flash of anticipation I had for the way my life was intended to be told. So I set off to mourn the death of my dreams. Everything has turned to dust in the palm of my hands. In that realisation, I wept, with every tear holding infinite emotions and what seemed like endless laminations.

However, as I kept crying something was being lifted off of my shoulders. The pressure of the corpse of my anticipations was no longer on me. I opened my eyes to see my desert filled with Sharon roses. I walked through my valleys to witness the existence of the lilies. 

Little did I know, that in the same place I have buried myself, I would bear something much more than a radiant ruby. I haven't known where the world is silent, freedom speaks. I haven't known where dreams die, visions are born.

Extravagance is indeed a waste, but it is not what they say it is. What a failure it is to be soaked in a solipsist mind, absent by the thought of tomorrow. Why waste today to live in the future?