Of reality and dreams

They ask me to quit being a dreamer now. "This hopeless romanticism would not take you anywhere", they say. In retrospect I feel that this has been pressing me for quite sometime. It has now become more of a question of what I feel rather than what they say. Torn between the matters of the mind and heart, I want to resolve this internal strife now, once and for all.

Reality used to be a muse sometime back. I loved her just enough to write what I felt about her with conviction. Forcing my eyes wider and looking at her with surgical precision. Getting astounded sometimes by the beauty of some of her parts in the process. Trying to find little imperfections here and there. Noting them down in the little scrapbook I used to carry back then. And most importantly, having a conviction that I can bring a change.

Reality immersed me back then. It does not now. The canvas covered with myriad hues has got deliberately sprayed on with a solitary colour. Grey. It could best be that. Reality has become sarcastic now. Rhetorical. I cant go about without actually proving my point, without having enough credentials to stem my authority in a conversation. The realisation dawned only a few days back. Life has been better since. 

I do not live only in my dreams. I considered that possibility but now I think no, definitely not.  I have just conveniently disposed off the things I don't like on my platter. The world can be sarcastic. I won't.Even if that means I dont conform with it. 

I still look at the world with open eyes. See things like petroleum price hikes and how it has become a national bone tickler on facebook. Unsolved murder cases. Governments coming and going. How the agenda has now become to elect the lesser evil to power. People dying because of heatstrokes. Its just that a mute resignation has come over time. 

I guess that was what we called "growing old".