Reflections courtesy of Suits ver. 1

“I was told
Even though we all grow old
Love will never die
Love’s ignorant of time
But those words were your own
And that was long ago, that was long ago

I’ve seen it all go your way
But now you fall every day
Your tired, unfamiliar face
Says it all

I used to call
I used to call you my own, my dear
But now you’re lost
And I am drunk alone, my dear”

– Whitaker (“My Own”)

 

Dreams are meant to be temporary. They are those which, if given time and if enough will is imposed towards their fulfillment, come true at some point. And just like that, those dreams are no more.

Dreams are meant to be forgotten. They are those which we are often roused from when in light slumber by the faintest of noise and movement. They linger for a couple of seconds—more if you focus enough to keep them around—before they eventually fade into the background. You only have the slightest of chances that you would be able to recall them. And just like that, those dreams are gone.

I’ve always believed in these.

But time has a way of challenging long-held beliefs.