fabrication

Imagine this. You’re on your deathbed. And there, standing around you are ghosts. Figures of every dream you pushed aside. Every idea you kept locked away. Hidden. Each one stares with heavy eyes. Not with sorrow, but with something darker. Anger, disappointment. They lean close, whispering, “we came to you. Only you had the power to breathe us to life.” They haunt you with unfulfilled potential. The travel plans you kept postponing. The business you dreamed of starting. The relationship you were too afraid to pursue. They ask “why?”. Why do you let fear hold you back? Why you chose comfort over risk. Why you buried us in the someday that never came. As they fade into the shadows, you realize these weren’t just dreams, they were parts of you. Pieces of the life you were meant to live. But now, with you, they fade away. And you’re left wondering if only just once, you’d let them breathe.