In Pointed Arrows, We Dream

My dream came true when it didn't.

Lost in a periphery of unattainable dreams, I only knew peace when they weren't answered. I dreamed of a life not meant for me. I dreamed of a soul so far away from me. I dreamed and dreamed, until all that I knew were the stars I could not aim for.

But then came a day when I was given an arrow. It was different from the ones stabbing my heart with their pointed heads. It felt foreign in my hands, shape and form unaligned with everything I once thought was. It was a dream I never knew I was making. It aimed my heart to the right stars, to my one true north that has always eluded me. And maybe all I ever really dreamed for was to aim for the right target.

I always thought we are all but idle creatures aiming for the stars we cannot reach. Yet, since my hand familiarised itself with that bow and arrow, I could only believe we are, in truth, unaware of the dreams that best suit us. We wish for dreams that hold us from firing our ammo, instead of releasing them to their destination. We ache for what we think we deserve, when it is nothing of our true worth. We wish and dream and ache, and all that gets answered is what we do not expect.

And maybe that's the true beauty of our lives; the dreams that never come true.