The dream that dies

There are times in life when your dream dies. Matter of fact, I'm here to tell you that in exactly 3 days my dream will be dead. Today, as I sit comfortably in my sofa, I'm writing a eulogy trying to say goodbye; trying to prepare myself before the finality of death. Not very successfully though; since crying non-stop rarely helps you when writing text.

Two years now, a glimpse of hope started to whisper in my ear that "hey, maybe you can do it" and I didn't believed it back then, but I started working for it anyway. First year of trying and I failed miserably. Second year, and I came half the way. This year was my last chance and I knew it. I feared failure but I marched right in anyway. Here I stand in front of you, with my 90% of success so far. In three days from now however, this percentage will be sent back to 0%. If only I had a little bit of luck. Enough luck to carry me just a little further. But times are hard for dreamers, and just because you worked hard for something doesn't mean you will eventually get it. 

Now all I can do is count. Count the hours left until the dream slips away. Looking straight to the mirror of my miserable self, I feel drained. This is horrible. Maybe I should finally put myself on the ground. Stop dreaming all together. Stop trying. Just. Stop. Have you ever had that feeling like you just wanna stay in your hole, and let the time pass you by, let the people pass you by, just ignore reality and stay there. Hidden from the world and its turning. I want to ignore the world, can't it just ignore me back?

As I grow up, I find myself wishing to be ignorant once again. Knowledge may be power, but ignorance is bliss. And all I ever wanted was to be happy. And free.