did we dream too fast? did we fly too high and forget the repercussions of gravity? did we aim for the sun with wings made to bear lightbulbs? falling aimlessly as they melt into futility. the cost of a dream failed. enough to cast our ankles deeper into the depths and line them with lead? or enough to propel us further? are dreams worth having if the inevitable ending always leaves us in ruins? or is the chance of succeeding, no matter how slim, always worth the risk?
our worries eat us inside like worms to compost, our insecurities further incentivising them. what is a dream if all it causes us is ruin. what is a dream if it hands us hope only to crush it in the same palms.