Being a dreamer is difficult even
when it seems as though it should
come as naturally as breathing.
Because opening this heart is difficult
when I forget how to forgive;
if you get what you give,
well, then I will stand here
palms upturned and empty.
A lot of things should come as
naturally as breathing, but don’t.
My heart feels like it doesn’t want
to beat but it has to keep going because
my heart is an involuntary muscle
that means that even if I want to stop
I cannot, even if I want to stop, I do not
want to go, I do not ever want to go.
I want to stay forever, never leave
Neverland, Peter Pan staying young,
staying free in a kind of nostalgic dance.
And if I stay here, if I just stay and stop
will you stay with me or will you leave?
Maybe I don’t want to know the answer.
Leave me with some hope that I know
your reply will be exactly the words I
want to hear; the scenes in my mind
are more fantasy than reality, but they’re
more beautiful than real-life. Maybe that
makes them true, more three-dimensional.
Also math is really beautiful because
it just makes sense and there is always
an answer, even when real-life problems
only ever leave me with unsatisfactory
guesses. And you solve problems no one
else wants to and I think that maybe
it’s the noblest thing in the world. And fractals
and Fibonacci numbers and infinity and zero
sound more like a religion than a science
sometimes. But maybe it’s beautiful because
it’s both a science and a religion and
more beautiful than reality and yet perfectly
true, and somehow more than it is and
exactly as it always has been and
Maybe I’ve always dreamed that
one day everything will just make
sense, everything will just add up.
All of a sudden, this life will just
be right. Like a perfectly solved
equation, eternally true in the
shifting sands of life changing.
I have big dreams but little hands
and my palms cannot even stretch
to hold enough water to keep me alive.
How do I reach for the stars when
I cannot attain escape velocity and
the nearest stars are lightyears away
and even if I reach the sun all I will
do is burn up to a crisp? It just doesn’t
make any sense to carry on with living
when all the math says I am dead wrong
to keep on hoping for impossibilities.
Dreaming is flawed.
Dreaming is an error in an otherwise
perfect proof – it scares me and this
is why. But I can’t help but do it anyway
because a dream is a wish your heart
makes and my heart is an involuntary
muscle, and i never chose to keep dreaming
like how my heart is still beating after all
this time and my mind is still racing,
still looking for problems to solve,
when all I want it to do is just stop.