Mossy stones

I take a walk down memory lane, and stop by the moss-covered milestones on the way. Why did they matter so much at that point of time, and why did they lose relevance later on?

It was the dream of a child holding a balloon in hand, and wanting to fly, not knowing the competition in the skies.

The needle moved from wistful dreams to benchmarks set by others, and yet, the dissatisfaction remained.

It dawns on me now, that what I wanted was a clear sky to fly, not dusty roads with stones to mark the distance covered.

Timeless dreams are the only ones that survive – all else crumbles to dust.