Now I have come to realize that the dreams I once dreamed were naïve, they were impossible, that this life that's so harsh and so real could never allow a shadow of those wonderful fantasies to exist. Once, oh that faraway once, I thought that if I asked for wings I could fly up to the heavens themselves, pluck the diamonds we call stars from the night sky, and carry them down to earth in my pockets. I wished on shooting stars, on dandelion fluff and rainbows and dewdrops and on life itself. I could believe, I could hope, and in my flighty night-time dreams I had white wings like those of angels and was soaring, gliding past the swirling planets and suns aflame with light, until earth was a blue speck in the distance. It was a world of love- I was in love, with the world and with my perfect life. All doors, every secret passageway and keyhole, was unbarred. The universe was mine, and I was its. For when I was young, and I dreamed, hoped, wished, and believed, and I knew- I knew they would all come true. And, so it turns out, I was wrong. Now I'm older, wiser in a bitter sort of way. The dreams I once dreamed have been killed by my harsh life, killed by prostitution and suffering and unrequited love, and die off themselves for lack of hope. My heaven has now turned into my hell. This hell has forced me to see- there are dreams that are never dreamed, and most that when they are, aren't ever fulfilled. Now, I've learned- there are some dreams that, like mine, can never be.
AuthorsNote:
So did you like? This is purely a one-shot, and some of the wording was a bit childish for Fantine- like wishing on dewdrops and gliding past suns aflame with light, but it's more of just a looking-back-at-how-my-life-used-to-be-oh-how-life-is-so-cruel-now, I just say this is Fantine because she's the character whose situation is closest to this. R&R appreciated (as always ;)