What dreams are made of

Last night I was scrounging around for scratch paper in my desk drawer when I came across an old, cheesy essay I had written. The last line went, "It doesn't hurt to dream." Reading that, it suddenly occured to me that yes, it does: dreaming DOES hurt. Because if it's something you want badly, desperately, passionately, then it should hurt like hell-- otherwise, it's not really a dream but just a passing fancy or spur-of-the-moment craving. A dream is something that comes from your very core, something that you would be willing to pour blood, sweat and tears into; something that, once attained, would make your life a little more complete; something that, if left unrealized, would gnaw at your insides for as long as you live and breathe. So it does hurt to dream... but we go on dreaming anyway, not only because we all have to nurture our inner masochists, but because no matter how much it hurts, it is, ironically, what keeps us alive. After all, there is no greater human vital sign than pain. So here's to keeping all our dreams-- and all the pain that comes with them-- alive.

Postscript: Incidentally, I found out someone's dream came true today. Congratulations, Mini-me! Told you so. ;p