Dream, just a dream

This is my dream, really my dream. Actually, I can do nothing and just follow where the river may be going, and see that I’ve got nothing. But I had choices, and I chose to choose it. I’ve already got the starting point, I’ve done so many great works. And it only needs finishing. Finishing.

If I’m serious about my dream, then I’ll start working. A month forward, I’ll be regretting my foolish mind if I did nothing. I have time, I have space, for what reason shouldn’t I use them properly?

Every great person they have resistance, and this is my resistance. They MADE themselves great. The only differences between the greats and the ordinaries is that they are both falls often, but the greats are insisted on going on whereas the ordinaries don’t.

Years ago I’ve made a commitment, to write two books. Whether it is a tutorial book, or anything else. Back then, I realized the books I saw at the bookstore were awful. I could write better than they could, I said. I have more potential and experience. Time passes. Still, my hands are empty.

I realized that they can put their books in the bookstore was because they DO it, they WRITE it, no matter how smart they are and how awful their writings are. And I? I know many things, but do nothing from it. What’s the purpose of learning then? Learning is supposed to be taken into action; I learn to be able to do something. And I learned, but what I’ve done. My knowledge shouldn’t be useless, now I said.

Yet, dreams are dreams. No matter how small my dream is, how common my intention is. It only matters if I do something to make myself closer to it, to reach it. Stop dreaming, start action! Action without dream, still, although aimless, at least it produced something. Dream without action, it’s nothing.

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