Even when I close my eyes...

He once had a dream of becoming a beautiful poet, but upon an unfortunate series of events some of those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky that he wished on over and over again, sparkling and broken. But he didn't really mind, because he knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted, and then losing it to know what true freedom is.

Endings are abstruse, mystic and unreal. They are but depleted beginnings purposed to be substituted with newer ones. A transition of outlook and time, similar to our differing moods before and after slumber. Before the act we witness an exhaustion, a sulkiness but on-gaining consciousness; we're rejuvenated and good humored. The wakefulness is the new beginning whereas the disturbance we perceive each night is the weariness of each day. So there never really is an end, all that there is, are beginnings. Beginnings which are promising, which offer hope, which give us a new leash on life, which neither denounce nor belittle, rather soothe and console by reconstructing the broken pieces of yesterday, mending and reinforcing them with courage and beauty like never before.