A dream

I once had a dream. Cristiano was practicing free kick, and an old man was passing. "So, Messi is scoring. What do you think?" The old man stopped and asked. "Well, that's none of my business." Cristiano kept shooting. "You know it isn't, deep down in your mind. Don't make lies to yourself and to others." Cristiano didn't listen. It seems like none of the shit concerns him. It seems like it's only him against the whole world. "You know, football is never a one man show. It's about proving yourself in front of others. It's about endless competing. It's about being the best otherwise nothing counts." "I know." Cristiano stopped. He looked up into the sky. There was nothing in his eyes, or everything in his eyes. "I know enough." "But what else can I do?" He continued talking in a dim voice. "I can't change a single thing except changing myself. I can't win anyone's love unless I work desperately to win it. I can't intervene the course of history and mankind to ensure my position as the best in history. And I can't, can't accomplish anything if I bury myself in what I wasn't and couldn't be." "So, what can you do?" The old man asked again. "I can bear it. I learned to be patient, to let myself go with that stuff, to stick to what I've got. " "That's significant for a young man like you." The old man smiled. "Have you thought about what will happen in the end? What if your endurance and patience paid for nothing but deeper desperation? Would you regret all the meaningless pain along the way?" There was a long silence. Too long that the night almost fell asleep. Finally Cristiano answered. "No, I wouldn't. Cause there is no other way out." The old man understood. When Cristiano talked about a way out, it was not about winning all, but getting over the horrible fire in his heart.