On Love and Dreaming... For awhile, I was convinced that being a dreamer was a waste. Tears are the dreamer's penance. After awhile, it got too exhausting to try to find hope in every situation. I had gotten my hopes up, spent my days dreaming about love and being loved, only to be let down again. This trend finally got to be too much. My life was destined to be loveless. I felt dull and glassy-eyed, my smiles were faked; I just wanted to sleep away the world. I was tired of participating and being let down continuously. Fortuntately, it was impossible for me to continue in this manner. I eventually realized that, while there's a good chance that my hopes will be crushed again, it's not in my nature to be a pessimist. Everything in my being screams that there is hope, that there is something worth trusting and believing in, even when I can't see, touch, or feel it. I suppose I'm destined for disappointment, but I think I would rather aim too high and fall short than never aim high enough.