Why does God allow us to dream, knowing that those dreams will never come true? If indeed they are never to be, why are we then bewitched by the thought of the possibility? Dreams are as fragile and delicate as a spider’s web, and just as easily destroyed. What gives them their strange power over us? We know they are never to be, but their haunting song still calls to our hearts. Many dreams are selfish and it is truly for the better that they never see fruition. Yet, what of the pure dreams? The ones that live in hope and die in despair? Those are the ones that vex us most deeply. We all know what it means to dream. We yearn with an intensity that words cannot describe. We plan, we hope, we pray. Yet the dream eludes us. With youth, there is still time, sweet precious time. We believe the dream will come in due course. But the morning mist of youth all too soon is burned away by the harsh sunlight of adulthood. Responsibilities require that the dream be set aside. Reality is a harsh taskmaster; it will not coexist with our dreams. Still we cling to that small desperate possibility that some way, some how, our dreams may blossom into reality. But as some despairing point, we know, we truly know, it’s over. Our shattered dreams are in ashes at our feet. In quiet desperation we are compelled to grieve over the death of a hope that only we knew existed. It is an empty, lonely feeling. The sweet dream that sang in the gentle night of youth has now become silent. And we are the less in it’s passing. Life continues on long after our dreams have gone. The object of our dreams will never know the love we had for them. We try to convince ourselves that perhaps it was best that the dream died. Yet in our heart we truly don’t’ accept it. We are left in our thoughts still trying to analyze our feelings. The dream is over. The skies weep. A subtle melancholy settles in our hearts. Perhaps unconsciously, we attempt to transfer our dreams to our children. All too often we try to relive our lives through them. We unwittingly place the resurrection of our dreams on them. This is unfair to them and unfulfilling to us. No, dreams are personal. It is we who create them and it is we who must deal with their death. They were ours and ours alone.
So, farewell sweet dream. Were we wrong to create you? Are we foolish to remember you? Only God knows, and He’s not telling. We dared to hope, but you were not to be. Although we try to forget, in quiet times, you still call to us. We mourn your passing. Your ashes were mingled with our tears. But, still, when we remember you, we have to sadly smile. In the end, perhaps it is best our dreams don’t come true. But we still can’t help but wonder.