But the tigers come at night
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hope apart
And they turn your dream to shame
He slept a summer by my side
He filled my days with endless wonder
He took my childhood in his stride
But he was gone when autumn came
And still I dream he'll come to me
That we'll live the years together
But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms we cannot weather
I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I'm living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed
The dream I dreamed.
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hope apart
And they turn your dream to shame
He slept a summer by my side
He filled my days with endless wonder
He took my childhood in his stride
But he was gone when autumn came
And still I dream he'll come to me
That we'll live the years together
But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms we cannot weather
I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I'm living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed
The dream I dreamed.
Humanities. They're everywhere.
These are the lyrics of I Dreamed a Dream, from Les Misérables.
One, Susan Boyle smoked this out of the water- two, so did the writers. Three, I'm going to use their words as a vessel for some greater thoughts.
What are my dreams? I wonder that, a lot. I want to publish a novel someday- that's a dream. But that's not my only dream- and, moreover, it's not the noblest dream or the dream I hope most will come true. Dreams change, I think- as we change. "Now life has killed the dream I dreamed," wrote Boublil and Natel- Now, life has killed the dream I dreamed.
Life.
I don't know how to be profound about life. But I don't think that life kills our dreams. I think we change, and thus our dreams change- not because life has killed them, but because life has changed us.
I think that, at the heart of every dream- of every person- rests a fundamental root. And I think all the dreams in the world share that root- it's a dream, fundamentally, of just being happy. And we craft our own paths- what we think will take us there, to the fulfillment of that fundamental need to be happy. But when life hands us a path that is not the one we expected- or when God hands us a path that is not the one we expected- perhaps we feel that our dreams are killed simply because we have not achieved our happiness in the way we expected we would.
But things have a way of working out for the best; whether the way we thought they would, or in a way that blows us from our feet. But dreams come true; dreams come true in the end. I think they do.
Goodnight, ya'll.
-TBF
