Those Dreams.

Let's write about a love lost. A time where grey is the only colour we know. Let's speak of the past. A time where we didn't know all of this. Let's surround ourselves with people that tell us we should know better. Because we seem to can't think for ourselves.

Why do we entertain the thoughts that bring the sleepless nights? Why do we let ourselves fall under the same traps? Why are we slaves under the yolk of not forgetting? We've seen it all before. We try build a new picture with the same puzzle pieces, hoping that the picture will change this time, only just this once.

We look for escape in the same tired ways we did when we came down this road before. We know these signs. We tripped over that curb many times before. There was a time where we said we would never miss the view but now we wear blinders as we walk out the door. Forget the fulfilment of the fleeting moment, the memories dont even last till the morning. The night's are short and the regrets last longer than the taste on the lips. We dont exist in a technicolour dream world. We live in a time where the fleeting is more important than the foundations we set.

We built a kingdom on promises and dreams, but in the back of our minds we knew that we had kept ourselves far from this shared vision. We were consumed on the surface by what we had before us, but we never lost sight of the solitary future we'd eventually face. Do we even realise how shallow all this is?

There is no change to the things we have seen others do before us. There is no change to the age old tradition of desertation. We venture forwards looking for what is hopefully a high that is better than first, but you never relive that moment ever again. Broken by the way we feel, we accept the fleeting moment of release that settling gives us. We know that it wont last. We know that it wont give us anything different to what we've been battling with but we settle, we settlie like it is the new change.

We're derailed. We left the tracks long before the sun came up. The hallucinations that were our happiness are like wisps of smoke in the twilight of morning. Fading. Fading. Fading.