Epitaph to a Fan

Some thingsā€¦ some things can never be recaptured. Dreams deferred. Loves lost. Some changes cannot be overcome. When something breaks inside of you your whole point of view shifts around, twisting your life along with it, taking you in a different direction. What has broken off will never be restored, because its place must be taken, its hollowness filled by some shape or form alien to it, that blocks its reentrance.

Everything changes when a dream dies. Fragments that cannot be swept away are caught, painful and piercing, lodged deep within and unshakable. And yet the whole, that thing that made you feel, is gone. Even if you should gather all the pieces you could not put it back together. Something invisible that was its heart is gone forever, ebbed away in the ruthless tide. That's why dreams don't just break; when they break, they also die. That's why you'll never be the same again.

With every day of change that comes to you, you are someone else. When you wake up in the morning, take a minute to look into the mirror. Pretend the face you see there belongs to someone else, and that someone is asking you who you are. Who am I, you think. That's a damn good question. With every day you change and come closer to being who you'll be tomorrow, farther from who you were last year. And when someone asks you who you are, no matter how casually, some part of you is forced to think through your answer before you just mindlessly dismiss the question with your name.

Yesterday you were a dreamer, but today your dream has died. And who are you now? What fills that gap in your heart, where once this love had lived? What balms ease the ache of those fragments still clinging desperately to your flesh, still remembering the tenacious, desperate, heartfelt hope they were once a part of? What new lives do you yourself clasp, to counteract the death within?

Dreams can never be recaptured, child. Birthing them is hard, but reviving them is impossible. Within you is a gaping hole, a chasm recently plunged. Within you is a death that will live on as long as you fail to feed its hunger. Your heart craves dreams, child, and loves. Without them you are but a shadow of something that only yesterday lit the paths of many. Be bright, or be not at all.