This happens every time.
Something good is going to happen, an actualization pulled from the jaws of a dream, the lighthouse you’ve been rowing toward for years and years.
All signs point to yes, but you still wait for confirmation.
Don’t get those hopes up, they’ve been dashed before. They’ve turned out to be someone else’s dreams before.
By the time the news is final, it feels too late to celebrate. That moment has passed.
That thing that felt like the prize looks more like a curse. Set into motion by some invisible witch out of one of those fairy tales you used to love so much.
It’s a curse that can only be broken in 5 years’ time, 30 years’ time. Broken through the kiss of a virtuous toad, the offering of 1,000 quail feathers, a complex dance of steps you never learned set to music you cannot hear.
To raise a glass seems foolish, there’s something better to do.
I go to sleep, in hope that my dreams might break the spell.
Wake again.
