They told him it was good to have dreams, like Martin Luther King. He believed them, and he was chosen in front of the whole school to read his speech. He felt really special, and saw something great, he was never the same after the 2nd grade.
First it was the toys he played with, then a sports star, no matter what his dream was, he always believed it with all his heart. So it's no surprise by the time he was a teen, he had the rest of his life figured out, he found his ultimate dream. For years he worked, he worked real hard, before he knew it, he'd grown into a young man living for the same charge.
He left lovers and friends and found more conducive ones, traded in his home state for one with more sun. He slept on couches, floors, and by the sea. He traveled states daily, working odd jobs, whatever it took to reach his dream.
He shook lots of hands and stuck to his plans, he could not be deterred by any man. His family wrote, but he paid them no mind, there was only one thing, for which he really had time. He said the right things and grabbed the right coat tails, and before he knew it, he was starting to not fail.
Things were happening, and coming together, it had been over 10 years now, and he licked his lips all the wetter. The stars were aligning and it was starting to happen, as if he were a deck hand rising ranks to be captain. The more he achieved, the emptier he felt. No one ever told him achieving his dream was going to be such hell.
He ascended to the Mountain top, to where he'd been climbing for so long. And when he finally got there, he had never felt so lost. For the first time in a long time, he cried out to God, "where have I gone wrong?" And as he screamed inquisitively, his body shook and he lost his footing. He tumbled down and down and down and hours turned into days and days into a haze. He tried to cry out more, but his lungs were like a gas-less outboard. The air got thicker as his head got sicker, and his heart felt thinner as if it was made of wicker.
He had so much momentum falling to the bottom of the mountain, he smashed into the sea and continued sinking downward. As his body dropped his arms reached out, he knew he was dead man with no words he could scream for help. Even though he was submerged down deep, he could feel streams of tears running down his cheeks. He could no longer breath and it had gotten so dark he could no longer see.
"How had I got here?", was the last thought he thinked. The falling had started to feel normal, as he lost consciousness, and drifted in to a dream. In his dream he was back in the 2nd grade, sitting in his old assigned seat. His teacher was giving out the "dream writing" assignments to commemorate Martin Luther King. This time, his paper didn't get picked though, even though he had written the same thing (Just with less grammatical errors). He tried to get up to leave, but he realized he was stuck to his seat. The class emptied out, and again he cried out, drifting into another dream.
This time he was back home in Washington, laying in a vast open field surrounded by Mountains. He realized he was all wet. But it was sunny, and there was only one single cloud in the sky. It was thin and bowed; like a frown. "No", he thought. It was a smile.
The dream started to feel more real, as he walked back to his old home. His old family and friends greeted him, with hugs he had long not known. He figured he would wake up soon, but yet he still sits here, living a dream renewed.
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