Poetry / A poem about being a dreamer (01/23/23) [2]

Dream, Dream, Dream

It's so cold, and I couldn't think of anything,
my soul is composed with all this strange sensations
all of them are cold, I can't help but to think,
how my life would be when I grow old

It excites me so dearly,
merely just thinking about it
I dream all day and night,
striving for that future so bright

I struggle to remain in the present time,
I hope one of these days I'd finally realize
that it is a gift and just as valuable as the future,
and not full of weariness and regret as the past