“Will you tell me your dreams?” He asked. His eyes fixated on mine.
“I can’t. And I’d rather won’t.” I said as I looked down on my fingers, putting pressure on my palm as I press my thumb on it, forming a knuckle. “You’ll get disappointed with what I have to say about your question.” I held my gaze on my fingers as I press my right thumb harder on my palm, causing my skin to form red marks.
“Why is that?” He asked. I can see him watching me dug my nail harder to my skin.
I bite my lower lip, harder than the pressing of the nail on my skin. I started to taste blood, but I didn’t mind. It was mine, after all.
“I stopped dreaming dreams.” I paused for a little while, contemplating on what to say next. I distract myself by admiring the deep mark left by the nail on my palm. Then, the taste of blood made me realize I wasn’t done giving my answer to this little curiosity. “Because I realized then, that dreams won’t come true. Not when you are too busy looking for and at the same time living the truth. That reality is better than living the harsh mentality that only dreams can give.”
And just like the little mark on my palm, it slowly fades, leaving the skin on its normal state.