Someone once told me that you should let your feet take you to the place where your dreams come true. As if a dream fulfilled was a package left on the pavement, a stone half-buried under grass, or a fruit on a tree, waiting for the day you come to pluck it away. You appear somewhere, and your wish is granted. The end.
But there's a funny thing about dreams. They can be tossed out of reach by wind, or water, or forces that do not care whether you laugh or cry. Out of their own mischief or spite, they can run away when you come for them, or simply refuse to be found.
I realized where I wanted my feet to take me a long time ago, when I started noticing how your lips remain parted long after you had stopped laughing, and how you used to have no apologies when staring at my legs. Well my legs have done their running, and now they are sore and aching, and my heart and lungs need their rest. It has been such a long, hard way, but here we are. I have come for you. Tell me, what happens to my dream now?
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