begins softly. It arrives as a whisper at 3:00 AM, when the world is silent and your defenses are down. It shows you a life so vivid, so achingly perfect, that when you wake up, reality feels like a punishment.
You dream of the person you could have become. The brave one. The free one. The one who said "yes" to the risk instead of "no" out of fear. That version of you is so real, so close, you can almost touch them. And then the sun rises, and you are left with the ghost of a parallel life.
You become a ghost walking through your own life. Your body is at the dinner table, but your heart is still in that dream. Your hands are typing the report, but your mind is still holding that imaginary face. la maldicion de los suenos
And the cruelest part? You cannot stop dreaming.
You will still wake up with tears on your pillow some mornings. You will still mourn the worlds your mind creates. That is the price of being a dreamer. begins softly
You cannot ask your soul to be less ambitious. You cannot negotiate with the part of you that craves more. To stop dreaming would be to die while still breathing. So you endure the curse. Night after night. Dream after dream.
You cannot live inside the dream. That way lies madness. But you can steal from it. A brushstroke. A conversation. A small act of courage. You take a single grain of sand from that impossible dream castle and you drop it into your ordinary soil. You dream of the person you could have become
But you will no longer be cursed.
You dream of the career you abandoned. The stage, the canvas, the book you were supposed to write. In the dream, you are triumphant. People applaud. You feel whole . Then you wake up to the spreadsheet, the commute, the silent compromise of survival. The curse laughs.