I build expectations so high into the sky that no reality can ever live up. I build into the stars and wonder why these earthly things can never reach them. I want my dreams to be much more than just dreams, I want my dreams to have dreams and those dreams to have dreams and I want my reality to exceed each and every one of those dream's dream's dreams.
I dream about my arms extending, not only beyond the atmosphere of earth, but outside of this Milky Way Galaxy. But my arms can only reach a couple of feet and my body is immediately filled with disappointment. And grief.
Maybe mountains should be enough. Or simply these rolling hills. But, no. I want a universe in the palm of my hands. And then curse those very palms for not being able to hold it all.
Expectations. One day they will be the death of me. But don't get me started on what I expect in my death. Because I'm sure Heaven will never be enough.
I want more. I demand more. I need more!
But all I have are rolling hills and palms that are far too small and dreams that continue to dream of better dreams.