I miss the dreams

Random writing on a friday night on scraps of paper.

"I miss the dreams… is it maturity that kills the dreams… for the life of me I can’t figure it out… the dreams were always big though- me as a jazz concert pianist, me as a world famous painter, me as a sports hero… strange that I could still be any of those things… I miss the simplicity of youth.. the silly problems and thoughts that had me all worried for nothing… indeed everything is relative… I long to connect… it happens so rarely though.. I never thought myself to be a people person… but yet, I yearn for the connections… everyone is so caught up in a whirlwind of the present though, and don’t really have the time or inclination for real conversations… the ones without the crap and façade… ah to be free- to write without caution… a real conversation albeit with a piece of paper.. still feels good… is that what we have been reduced to… conversations and connections- the real ones- with inanimate matter and masks with the people. my brain is riddled with thought unexpressed in consciousness… that’s probably why I love to sleep… that’s when we possibly truly dream… I don’t think we laugh enough either… at ourselves, at our lives, at our silliness and obsession with everything… we also don’t let go… we carry this nonsensical baggage everywhere and then complain life is tough… I have no idea where all this is going… and it feels great J no beginning, no end… just the journey" - Anonymous