The death a dream...

A wise man (Ghandi) once asked, "What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a Raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore -- and then run?"

I used to not be able to read this all the way through, because the thought of a runny, festering, raisin was just too gross for me (I still taste a little throw-up in the back of my mouth when I see it), but now I think I truly understand what that anorexic old Indian was getting at...

For as long as I can remember, I've been hoping that, someday, an eccentric millionare would randomly decide to adopt me, and give me all the money I wanted. Money and things.
I don't think it's too much to ask. I mean, there are lots of millionares.

But it's not happening.
No matter what I do, no matter how many banks I stand outside of, looking sad, the millionares aren't interested. Except, once, I got propositioned, and that was horrible.
No, my friends, this is a "dream deferred." An ice cream dream. A burst-at-the-seams dream. A laser-beamed-dream. A raisin... in the sun.

Also, on a side note, who has festering sores!? Oh my God. Ick. I would rather die than go to India.

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