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Lamenting Over Dreams Come True
An Essay (?)
The question mark in that subtitle there is to denote that what Deepansh writes is a genre unto itself.
In fact he is so unique that he is quite possibly the last blogger left going in 2023. Our man hosts all of his work over at his own website, the wonderful journal.coffee. (This is why this piece has my name on the byline as you have to out something there) .
I believe that to do this is an admirable act of wilfulness and defiance and it pleases me that someone of such a maverick disposition still sees the value of being a part of the STSC and contributing poetic and thoughtful pieces such as this.
Make sure to check out Deepansh’s vast body of work over at journal.coffee. Like coffee itself you will soon find his website to be an indispensable part of your morning routine.
Walking through, below and around the marvels of a world far gone, of genius left behind, of greatness, succumbed to the lashes of time, it occurred to me that only to see these places with my own eyes was once a dream. Has it come true? I do not know. Dreams do not come true; they only disappear and get folded into reality. Dreams only exist until you cannot differentiate them very well from reality. From that point on, it is but life. Unlike our days or the rest of our existence, dreams do not have a moment where they are happening. They instantly become memories. In the precise moment you achieve whatever you dreamt of, you begin missing the yearning, the want, the hours and days you spent thinking of what would happen if it ever came true.
My dreams have come true, but at what cost, for I have lost them. One might say it is a blessed life, for much of what I dreamt of not more than a decade ago has already begun to happen. And they will be correct. But they will not know how burning too fast through that list has its challenges. You cannot dream as quickly, and suddenly, you find yourself in a life with a dearth of the impossible. As I sit here, having become who I always wanted to be, it occurs to me the truest dream is the one that can never come true.
Writing the first book takes you a lifetime, but writing the second takes you a deadline. That is how dreams work, too. The first few that come true simmered for years, maybe even since you were not as privy to the world's ways. Then, you learn how to dream, and therein lies the problem.
I continue dreaming, but all my dreams are curtailed to fit within the curtains of reality. The more dreams come true, the more realistic the others begin. No longer do I dream of pink skies, for I know they cannot exist. Instead, I dream of a day not too far from the one I have right now. I dream of love, but not an impossible, colourful one, just the one that will stay by my side for the longest possible time. No longer do I dream of the unreal.
Grateful as I am for all the gifts I've received, I wish I could dream of impossibilities again, but I cannot; I do not know how anymore.
Time has marred and blemished it all.