I was born with dreams, not my own, but woven like a spider's web into my blood

I was born with dreams, not my own, but woven like a spider's web into my blood, by ancestors who left this world without fulfilling their desires, they pass down ambition like an heirloom of old silverware, polished with memories, caressed by the dust of decades, yet too precious to be left to fade away. Each night, I feel them breathing at the nape of my neck, whispering like an ancient wind: "Do not waste what we could not become, do not let the dreams fade into oblivion". But I wonder, what happens if I want nothing of this at all? What happens if true freedom means letting dreams lie untended, renouncing the burden of inherited ambitions, carving my own path through the labyrinth, where the shadows of the past cannot touch my light, living a life unchained, becoming a shooting star in the sky of my own freedom, a constellation of choices? Perhaps, in the silence of the nights, I will find the answer in the echo of my unheard desires, in the quiet between heartbeats that dream of something else, of a universe of possibilities, where the courage to be nothing but myself becomes the true magic of existence.