Inspired and slightly based on a friend of mine.
Dream chasing of a dream catcher and the defeated.
We once made a promise
to never succumb to reality,
and chase whatever wild dream
that seemed utterly preposterous.
But here we are again and again,
as I watch you struggle on with that promise,
under a drunken haze
to outwit reality by escaping from it,
Did this count as cheating by the way?
I pondered as I took another delicate sip,
of whatever it was that was most certainly not strong enough.
I watch you unfold
as I sat composed across the table.
Am I pathetic or is it you?
“Would you laugh at me,
And call me weak?
Now that I am finally seeing a therapist?”
No, I won’t laugh at you,
because you are long beyond my help
and help is what you need.
That promise weighs down on the both of us:
Yours from keeping it,
and mine from guilt.
I have long lost the battle,
while you trudge on with a losing one.
Or is it a losing one, by how I see it,
just because I’ve lost?
I thought I told you, quite clearly,
that I wouldn’t come to your funeral
if you died before thirty-five.
But here I am alive without living,
And you doing neither of the two.
They told me you went
by chugging prescription pills with whiskey,
and I had to stop myself from snorting,
as I always thought German beer was your thing.
“The scariest thing in life,
is to have a dream
one did not have the capability to fulfill it.”
You once told me over a pint,
that this was your greatest fear.
And I could not tell you,
Sober, tipsy or drunk,
that life itself terrified me.
And here I stand,
laundered and well-paid,
in step and in line.
Would you laugh at me,
and call me weak?
For having given up so early in the game?
Pathetic or not,
I miss you so,
my dear friend.