Dreams

  I've finally stopped having dreams about my ex.  That life, our life, is starting to fade... It reminded me about my lifelong dream. It's the American dream. A wife and family, forever.
That was what I wanted. Not fame or riches. Just a family, and love. It makes me think of one of my favorite poems called dreams.
          Hold fast to dreams,
    for if dreams die,
       Life is  a broken-winged bird,
    Who cannot fly.      So it is time to begin the process of moving on. And yet I don't know how to start. At 53 it's hard to begin again. And yet it's also exciting and mysterious. Langston Hughes the writer of that poem had an answer to the dreams poem. It's called "A Dream Deferred"
    What happens to a dream deferred?
  Does it dry up
 like a raisin in the sun?
   Or fester like a sore---
 And then run?
   Does it stink like rotten meat?
 Or crust and sugar over--
   like a syrupy sweet?
 Maybe it just sags
    like a heavy load.
 Or does it explode?
      That is something I must discover myself. Weather I ever find love again or live alone until I go, it is my decision, and it is the unknown.