The curse ends the moment you stop asking, "Why can't I have that?" and start asking, "What part of that can I build today?"
not the nightmare that scares you awake, but the beautiful dream that makes you hate your own existence. la maldicion de los suenos
Perhaps the dream of the lover isn't telling you to find that specific person . It is telling you that you are capable of tenderness. Perhaps the dream of the stage isn't a prophecy of fame. It is a reminder that you have a voice. Perhaps the dream of your braver self isn't a taunt. It is a blueprint. The curse ends the moment you stop asking,
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. Perhaps the dream of the stage isn't a prophecy of fame
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.
And the cruelest part? You cannot stop dreaming.
You dream of the lover who didn't stay. In the dream, they look at you with eyes full of the forgiveness you never received. Their hand fits perfectly in yours. You talk for hours about nothing, and everything. Then the alarm rings. You open your eyes to the cold side of the bed and the weight of an apology you never got. That is the curse.
