Broken Dreams ✓

o5 | cloud 9

day 5 ➜ a letter to my dreams

Dear Whoever,

To whoever it is in the world or outer space or the flipping universe that answers people's wishes and dreams, and decides if they can have them or achieve them. This is for you.

Over my many months and years, I've spent on this mortal coil, I've had many hopes and dreams. Some have faded away and some have stayed, and I've also had new ones to replace the ones rubbed away by time, but you know that because you are them.

When I was a little young thing, I hoped one day I would be enough. I hoped one day I would be somebody. I hoped one day Christine would look at me like she looked at daisies. I hoped one day I'd be happy with my family.

I'd hoped.

I was a child with hope.

And now, I am an adult with a hope left.

And then, I will become a corpse without hope.

I can't change what's already happened. All I can do is live in the now and write a story for people in the tomorrow to read.

I hoped I would be enough. Good enough someday to merit having a family. Someone who loved me unconditionally.

I hoped I would be remembered. Like the world remembers William Shakespeare or Alexander Hamilton or Julius Caesar. When I was younger I often spent hours and hours wondering how I would be remembered after I was gone, but now I know it is either one of two things. A convicted double murderer or an innocent man convicted of double murder and killed in prison. However, if all goes how I expect them to it will be the later (as I will probably have to receive a severe injury(or injuries) to get certain information and I'll likely die).

About Christine. She. She was bright. She made me idle and starry-eyed. She was probably the closest I came to love. She was my first crush. My first love. My first girlfriend. My first everything. She had a dream. We both had this dream. We made it ourselves.

In St. Andrew's secondary school library at a lunchtime in year 10. We were sat on the carpeted floor, our backs hidden behind the nature bookshelf.

It was the first time Christine asked me something about my parents. Ever since she found out I was a care kid. She never talked about it. She never asked me questions about it. Other than if I could sneak out and go for sleepovers or stay out and stuff. That day I was the same as I usually was. I don't know why, to this day, Christine chose that day to ask me, or why she'd said the things she did and noted about me that day. Because the only special thing I recall from that day was Christine and I's conversation.

"Are ever in contact with your family?" She asked me and drank a little water from her Evian water bottle.

I finished swallowing the bite of my apple and said, "never. I don't even know my parent's names. I'm not even sure Styles is one of their names, they could have given me my grandmother's maiden name or some shit like that. So I'd never find them. Who knows?"