One day I saw the stars in the sky.
The sound of crickets kept me from falling asleep, and I arched my back against the hard bench. I found myself straining to see the stars above my head, unable to catch a glimpse of their dim glimmer. The dark tree branches hid them from view, like how my fears used to hide my dreams, and I gave up on the task of seeing the star’s light. Calling it quits – throwing in the towel, waving a white flag of defeat – came too naturally to me. Obeying the foolish wishes of my heart, listening to my soul’s cry, and hearing the bells of sweet promises was foreign. Alien.
I had no desire to soothe the ache of regret in my chest. It kept me company during cold nights, adding its own chill to the air. I dared not to see what my life was meant to be because I was afraid of being empty. The pain in my heart was so solid, so real, that I couldn’t fathom life without it. I preferred the agony over the hollowness, and even though I knew it was killing me, I sought my own death with peace in my heart.
They say self-doubt kills dreams, but the true murderer of dreams is our unwillingness to replace our doubt and unease with hope and wonder. Maybe it is too late for me. But that one night, as I stared up at those stars, I realized that I wanted to see them. I needed to see the eyes of my reflection in the mirror alight with curiosity. I needed to dream again. So I dared to dream, and my eyes started glowing with star light.
I stood up and left my favorite bench in the park, filled with a new sense of purpose.