:: que lastima pero adios ::

We talked about our dreams. It seemed appropriate since we were drinking tea and watching the sun disappear with more colors than we'd seen all day. We talked about letting our dreams go.

She told me about her friend, the one who just gave up everything he was working towards (and successful at) to be poor. He said it was like climbing up a mountain dragging a boulder behind him, only to decide steps away from the summit to let the rock go. He has no need for that weight; he plans to fly.

(So do I.)

We talked about our dreams. They're not stones, like his, not just compressed worthless matter. No. Ours are beautiful, and noble. They're the ones you let go of boulders to reach out for instead. Good dreams, mine. Ours. Don't Take Them Away.

(And we talked about letting go, because sometimes it matters not at all what you're holding on to but that you're holding on. And that you need to let go, noble or not. After all, only the best things are fit to be burned on the altar.)


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