Betting the odds against it all...

Nobody's memory is perfect or complete. We jumble things up. We lose track of time. What we thought were moments that defined the very nature of who we are, in hindsight, seem frivolous and empty. We are in one place ... then another and it all feels like one long, inescapable journey. One you cannot plot, but simply try to sail as waves thunder against you. So what does it mean? What do we take away? Which pieces of the puzzle will hurt us? Haunt us? End us? Inspire us? Which memories are true, which are false, and which are better to be tucked away, far from reach, and even further from our soul? I guess you were right, you were right all along. The carousel never stops turning. You can't get off.

His dreams of grandeur slip through his fingers as easily as they were conjured in his mind. He jumps from one ludicrous scenario to another - each and every time concocting circumstances more unreal then before - while quietly wishing they might come to fruition. He stares at the sky, just as he did, just as he always will, and he imagines a world where he does not have to die. Where people will remember his actions, his marks on the wall. A world where his words shall resonate within the hearts of so many, and offer them the simple notion of peace, for they shall know that someone understands, that someone cares. He will reach this future. He shall touch and inspire. He shall be all the things they told him he cannot. He will endure and push on. He will succeed. Just wait and see.