Is it better to dream than to live?

I’ve always conceptualized my biggest fear in life as Death itself - the cessation of this body to maintain the living process. I’m fear Death, because I want to live. Yet strangely, I often feel allergic to life. The thought of taking action, any action at all, reveals at every turn a resistance to engaging with the reality of dog walks or the constriction of my neurons to turn thoughts to words in a way which keeps me from the euphoria I’d imagined in my fantasies. There is a death in every decision. There termination of possibilities when one becomes definite. The lose of potential like the plucking of feathers from wings once meant for fligh. I love airports, because of the storylines I imagine for each of the passerbyers. They are on their way to see their family, or to visit a new city for the first time, or to see a lover long since held, or to accept to solemn fate of a final farewell. All of life is present in an airport. All of life evaporates as I myself head to thirty thousand feet.

I want to sit in on a dark blue night conspiring with all of the stars to create love stories and mythologies. I want to revel in the flames of campfires that ripple in and out of space as those around idance the evening into memory. All of this and more. And all of this and loss by getting to only live one life. Is it better to dream than to live?