The Death of a Dream

What are you left with when a dream dies?

I've been trying to figure that out. All I've seemed to manage to do so far is send my thoughts spinning in useless circles.

What I do know is that a dream of mine died recently. It was a dream that I'd chased after long and hard, starting from the moment I saw its possibility. I'd given everything I had to give in this dream's pursuit, yet I never even got the chance to see it fulfilled.

I'd try to direct my attention elsewhere, but somehow I always kept drifting back; I kept dreaming that maybe, just maybe, it was possible. I thought about throwing in everything I had, trying once again for a single chance.

But when the opportunity to do so arose, I didn't take it. Because I saw for the first time that what I was chasing would not satisfy me. I would not get out what I put in. So I let the opportunity pass. And the dream that I had tried so hard to kill finally began to die.

It still haunts me, but only with a pale shadow of its former strength.

I thought I should have been happy. I was free. But I wasn't. I was just... confused. Drifting. There was no longer any Polaris to follow, and I wasn't sure what to do in its absence.

I'm still not sure. I've sat at my keyboard for ten minutes in between this paragraph and the last as my mind has tossed fitfully in place. What will happen to me? I don't know. I could try to catch Sirius, but my hands are so clumsy. I could try to turn my attention to something besides stargazing, but they'll always be looking over my shoulder. Or I could simply be lost in the void, a prospect as empty of appeal as it is of everything else.

I don't know.