It's all just a matter of perception

When we look at the sky

You may see clouds and fluffy whites

And I may see bags of potential storms

Is this what dying dreams look like?

As we sit up late on Saturday nights

You may feel butterflies fluttering in your stomach from one whispered word: "freedom"

And I may feel my insides churning, experimenting with the feeling of nothing.

Is this what dying dreams feel like?

As we step into new surroundings

You may smell your life baking, the scent of opportunity beckoning

And I may smell the pipes of my past rusting, suffocating me with the scent of metal and regret

Is this what dying dreams smell like?

As we walk into the woods

You may hear the peaceful sounds of escaping the city

And I may hear the silent daunting of approaching danger of change

Is this what dying dreams sound like?

As we take a bite of our meal

You may taste the sweet, enticing tang of adventure

And I may taste the bitter paste of could-have-beens.

Is this what dying dreams taste like?

But a better question is do dreams really die?

Or are they simply following the laws of physics?

Are they simply in constant motion, evolving to fit the circumstances?

Are they simply threatening suicide to open doors we never would have looked for?

Or are they really just thoughts that camped in our heads longer than the rest?

Perhaps they are defiant pieces of matter whose sole purpose is to make us wish for a certain outcome?

What are dreams?

Do dreams die? 

What are dying dreams like?

The truth is,  nobody can really answer these question.

And I'm no poetic exception.

Because it's still all just a matter of perception.