I found a lost dream. The owner of the almost burnt manuscript must have been lonely. He wasn’t able to pursue the only thing that gave him joy and fulfillment. And I am almost doing the same. I’m losing grip, slowly drifting away from my source of contentment, from my passion. And that’s because of the people around me.
I hear the cries of suffering directly from his heart. The pain lingers on the paper. The story was remarkable, but his reply to the editor was something more. He created a vivid longing for his dream that they thought was an illusion. And because of that harsh and degrading criticism, he crashed, hard. He was also stripped off his chances. What kind person would do that! Now I don’t wonder where a few words could take you. And what connection couldn’t give.
Suddenly, this lost dream gave mine a life.