Is a dream a lie if it don’t come true, or is it something worse?
                                                                                    
He remembers riding in his brother’s car, her body tan and wet, down at the reservoir. Pulling her close as they lay on the riverbank, just so he could feel her breathe.
 
This, he dreamed, could be the rest of his days.
 
That was then, in Springsteen’s song ‘The River.’
 
This is now. And now holds none of that promise of youth, now is a dull scrape of broken nails across the rusted hood of his brother’s car, sitting on blocks in the front yard.
 
So was his dream a lie? Blissful freedom he thought he was running toward, only to find that the whole time he was running away?
 
Or was his dream not coming true something worse… the cold, wet wind of disappointment that extinguished the light inside? 
 
That light inside shines on the way forward, a promise not of arrival, but travel. And when that light inside goes out, the way forward goes dark.
 
He was the keeper of his own light inside, the protector of the fire in his heart.
 
So are you.