dreamdrafts.

why couldn't it be me?

every time I remember,
there's a hollow in my heart

and no one knows how deep it goes:

not because my heart is empty

but because I'm so full of desire

someone's out there

in a place I want to be

in a role I want to play

but I'm the one who prayed

I'm the one who crafted the dream

I'm the one who read the books and wrote character studies

I'm the one who ran deep into my own ambition

and all I have left are saltwater tears and a heart overfull, 

over years of dreaming and nowhere to go with it.

why am I here? what happened to the promises?

and maybe I'm in denial, but what do I have to grieve?

maybe losing these dreams is like losing lives;

except these lives never existed outside of me, 

so maybe a part of me is lost too.

what a puzzle grief is; what a puzzle I am.

worlds collide behind my eyelids 

but the world outside my window leaves much to wish for,

and desperation drifts into the mix.

how much longer do I have to wait? You know I've tried to believe. 

or maybe I never believed, 

maybe I simply tried to content myself with this version of ordinary I never wanted:

exchanging outdated dreams for newer ones, 

keeping up with the times,

waiting for a dream to fit --

waiting for a dream size to match the horizon size of people from backgrounds like mine.

why am I here and not where I prayed I would be?

I know You heard every word, and

nothing I say makes it clear enough, but this is 

what I dream about,

what I laugh about,

what I cry about,

what I keep waking up every day about.

so why hasn't it happened yet?

there's not a day where life has lessened my desire,

there's not a day where I've given up grasping at the breeze.

when will it stop blowing over me? 

when will I start to fly?