Confessions of a dreamer

We were supposed to be invincible.
So full of creativity - so fearless - we were walking fountains of youth.
Believing the world was ours for the taking, we ignored the nay sayers, the prophets of doom, the voices of reason. 
Because we believed in our dreams.

Now, over a quarter of century later, the realization that perhaps our dreams were simply a mirage of an oasis from which we'll never partake is killing me.

I think of all the steps we took to achieve-- and how they have seemingly have led nowhere, and I weep. 
I curse the fortunes for teasing me with a nibble here- a morsel there- a sip of success but never enough to quench the thirst. 

I look back on the path behind me and see the mounds where the dreams of others died and were buried; perhaps they were the wise ones to let go of those flowers which would never bloom. 
What am I to do? 
What. Am. I. To. Do?

I cried last night.  Alone in my car, on the side of a road.  The realization that a dear friend is suffering and there is nothing that I can do to ease it had finally hit me. 
The acknowledgement that we are aged- that we are no longer the shiny new toy; the sparkling clean novelty so proudly showcased.
We are not invincible... we are not immortal.... we are not deities.
We are left behind, unknown and anonymous, battered and scarred, holding nothing but the remnants of what could have been-- to us what SHOULD have been-- and wondering why we were denied that which we so fervently sought. 

Today I will mourn. 
I will allow myself the luxury of one day to let the frustration, anger, resentment, rejection, pain, and disappointment out.  Today I will rage until I am completely spent.

Once I am exhausted and my inferno is but an ember, I can rest.

Then tomorrow, like all the yesterdays behind me, I will try again.