He opened his eyes for the first time and let out a cry,
so that the dreams would know that yet another space for residence has emerged where they can hope to live by.

His love for bedtime stories, lullabies, comics, cartoons and toys,
gave dreams the materials needed for the construction of a tower instead of a simple house,
which stood brazenly looking towards the sky at the level of an eye.

The dreams had a lavish life in his eyes, as he grew up believing in them,
and ended up spinning an entire city around the tower.
That was when the wrecking ball called Reality loomed in.

Usually, dreams were smart enough to build only a small house over a long period of time, and fortify it,
as they were aware that one-day reality will come to find them and bring them down.
But his eyes had so much to offer, that they dared to forget about the wrecking ball in exchange of just the idea of a city.

Ironically, the dreams themselves never dreamt that the more they constructed,
the more they gave Reality to destroy.
Reality had a field trip.
It bludgeoned down the city, square feet per square feet, which disappeared from his eyes,
sometimes in the form of tears, mostly as silent stares into the unknown.

Now, the surviving dreams are all hiding.
Injured, limping, handicapped, in the remains of what was a blooming city once.
Half of the tower ceases to exist, and the sky smirks at the thought of the arrogance the tower once displayed.

Reality still swings by quite often, but there is nothing left for it to crumble.
Lately it feels that the swing misses the survivors knowingly, just for the fun, playing God.

But he, who did not ask for any of it since the day his eyes opened, is still confused, angry, sad, disappointed, tired and broken,
trying to understand where he went wrong, where his fault lies.

Maybe he should have read a story less,
or maybe he should have slept before his mother completed the lullaby.


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