Where Dreams Should Be

Sometimes it feels like I’m climbing a mountain
that grows with every step,
its peak always hidden, and though my hands are raw,
my breath thinned by heights,
I wonder if this ascent is enough—if I am enough.

I reach, I try, I chase the shapes of dreams,
while the world spins on, and I wonder,
does it see? Does it care that I’m here,
scraping sky, or am I a whisper lost in the wind?
Do I even need or want it to care? Why do I even Ask? I already know it doesn't.

But then, there are days the light falls just right,
and I catch a glimpse—of others,
striving, silent, bearing their own invisible weights,
climbing their own invisible heights,
eyes fixed on something unseen, something felt deep.

And so I drift between days,
unseen and unheard, bearing a weight
that grows in the spaces
where dreams should be.
A heavy ache for something nameless I’ll never reach.

Perhaps we’re all alone in these hidden sorrows,
each bearing the silent burden of not enough,
moving through a world that calls for strength,
while we search for places to set down our pain.

Yet maybe the worth isn’t in the summit, or the applause that never comes.
Maybe it’s in each step, each breath, the steady strength it takes to rise and climb again.