“The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore, all progress depends on the unreasonable man.”
— George Bernard Shaw

I long to be forgotten, to slip quietly into the shadows of existence, leaving not a trace behind. I wish to vanish as if I had never drawn breath, as if my footprints were mere whispers upon the sand, stolen by the tide. For every deed done and every dream left undone, for each ambition that crumbled beneath the weight of my own hesitations, I yearn to be forgotten.

Let me fade for all the masks I wore, for the facades I built with trembling hands. For what I appeared to be but never truly was, let the world release me. For every silent scream I buried beneath painted smiles, for every show of resilience when all I craved was the quiet comfort of surrender, let me be erased.

I want to be forgotten for every truth I twisted into falsehood and for every lie I whispered in the name of good. For all that I concealed, the shadows where I hid my fears, I wish to drift away into nothingness. Forget me for my blindness to reality, for my idle acceptance of the slow-burning miseries, and for every reckless leap of faith that landed me nowhere but deeper into the abyss.

Do not remember me for the tangled knots of unworthy attachments, nor for the burdens of unforeseen sorrows I dragged behind me. I long to disappear not only from the echoes of your memories, which perhaps never truly held me, but also from my own relentless quest to etch my name upon a world that never paused to listen.

Forget me for the songs that withered in my throat, for the melodies I never set free. For the way my furrowed brow wrapped me in discomfort, a tight embrace of my own making; let me slip into oblivion, a feather on the wind, a petal swallowed by the river’s current.

Let me be nothing more than a half-remembered dream, a mist that the morning sun quietly lifts away.

And then,

I yearn to hear an unending ovation, not for grandeur or fame, but for these weary eyes that have long forgotten the solace of a blink. Let the applause be a soft echo through eternity, a quiet hymn for the silent vigil I’ve kept with life. I wish to be remembered not for grand gestures, but for the gentle curve of my lips offered to a soul who needed it most; a smile not as an act, but as a refuge.

I do not seek the harsh glare of a spotlight, but rather the tender embrace of a sun that spills warmth generously, draping me in light without demand. I wish not for mere drops of passing rain but for the steadfast flow of a river, a sanctuary to fall into, to drift upon, to belong to.

I crave not just wishes but blessings, the kind that well up in the corners of my eyes, that blur the world with gratitude. I want the strength of embraces, not the hollowness of lifeless handshakes. I dream of wandering an endless path, where the pace matters not; where the journey, whether walked or sprinted, is a melody of its own.

I want to touch the wounds hidden beneath layers of old stories, to trace the lines of pain I never realized were drawn upon my skin. I long to surrender, not in defeat but in reverence, to the vastness of truth that hums beneath the noise of living. I want to love the art I never finished, to find beauty in the incomplete, to let imperfection breathe and call it divine.

I wish to shatter the walls of awkward silences, to replace them with a rhythm, a pulse that fills every hollow space with the cadence of life. I don’t want to merely search for distant beacons; I want to hoist my sails and meet them, to let the wind carry me to where the horizon meets the sky.

I want to plant a tree and nurture it, to wrap my arms around its bark each day, a promise etched into its roots: I will stand against any darkness that threatens it. I want to embody the fierce duality of an uncompromising saint or an unapologetic warrior; both soft and unyielding, serene and wild.

In the end, I long to play music that drifts like mist through the universe, notes that blend into the very nothingness from which all things are born. I want each melody to dissolve the boundaries of existence, to find eternity in the echoes, to lose myself in the infinite quiet of the cosmos; alive, real, and beautifully (un)done.

There exists no binary resolution wherein the end seamlessly converges with the genesis, and where the inception inexorably inclines toward conclusion.

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them.”
— William Shakespeare, Hamlet