For once , my ego had failed me.
Dreams. Dreams fed by the handle of a spoon, dreams that were passed down every generation, dreams that were my own, dreams i couldn't bear to doubt now. It all lay right there, in front of me, motionless, groaning in pain, dying. I stood looking down at what i once was, what was still a part of me, what i had always wanted to be. I didn't know whether to smile or cry.
Long ago, when it didn't even matter, the seed had been planted. As the weeds grew, some were removed, some more were planted, some just were burnt to death in the baking hot sun. One though, was watered quite regularly. One was aldready chosen to live. The trees all around, they too knew which of the weeds they were to let live, which they had to kill. It grew, the weed grew. Ants nibbled at its roots, the mongoose tried to pull it out. It stood the test of time. The weed flourished.
He knew what he wanted, he knew what he had to do. No point wasting time, he got to work. He loved his job, yet was never any good at it. He loved what he did, yet never did more than make mistakes and loose hope, though never long enough to hate his work.
He loved what he did.
He had wronged again, wronged himself with the lost war of hope. He bowed his head, panted for breath, cried out loud. He was lost. Lost more to himself than to anyone else in the world. His path had always taken him back to where he had begun.
Never, not once has a human lost hope enough to say that in a better time he would still not succeed. And this I say, better times, i wait for thee. This I know, better times were times long gone, better time is time still ticking. Yet I wait, if not for the time then for me.
