Crying In The Garden

As I was, weary and tired, in the darkness, in the wind as weak as my hope, in the starless night, and cold enough to know the autumn. As I was walking in circles I saw someone looking at me from the eastward, forest.
What do you want?, I asked grimly.
Your soul, said the wolf.
What would you need my soul for? It’s been pretty useless in this life.
I need it because I am like you, but I want to live.
The thought was tempting and, frankly, it wasn’t new.
Wait, do you want my dreams,too?
No, I can’t give them away!
Why not? Your body is dying, your mind is dim and your future holds nothing more but another string of disappointments. Your dreams are unachievable; even the greatest men of your world don’t have half of the greatness your dreaming of. Give me your impossible dreams and be in peace.
I know I am weak, I know the dreams can not be, and still I can’t give them away.
Why not?
I don’t know. Will you take them from me, tear them out of me?
No, that is just another dream of yours – to fight against someone who wants your freedom taken away. This dream can not be, I will not take them unless you give them to me.
I can’t, I may be vain, but my dreams are me. Why are you here when you can’t have me?
Because I’m just another dream you have, trying to prove your worth, an imaginary foe.
And I still want to live, and I don’t know why, I said, and I went home again, for there were no answers in my lonely dreams.

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