And then, we convince ourselves that what we want aren't really what we want. We rewrite the stories, paint over the partially coloured canvases and pretend that we don't have those dreams.
Those dreams that we believe in and hope for and hanker after, they're no longer.
It's one of those quirks about failing. Once, we consider it an experience. Twice, a trial. And, if it happens too many times, we accept that it wasn't meant to be.
We tell ourselves that what we've are sufficient, that we should be contented.
This way, we soothe our envy. This way, we stop imagining. We allow some part within to fester and die. In sacrificing the possibilities - the what-ifs and what may-bes - we become at peace.
Those dreams that we believe in and hope for and hanker after, they're no longer.
It's one of those quirks about failing. Once, we consider it an experience. Twice, a trial. And, if it happens too many times, we accept that it wasn't meant to be.
We tell ourselves that what we've are sufficient, that we should be contented.
This way, we soothe our envy. This way, we stop imagining. We allow some part within to fester and die. In sacrificing the possibilities - the what-ifs and what may-bes - we become at peace.
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