Puddle of Dreams

HarsH ReaLiTy

I cry tears of pain and sorrow. They gather in a pool at my feet and cause my eyes to stare into the depths for answers. Small waves chop the surface as my eyes keep up a steady pattern of fallen dreams. Inside the pool I see my reflection. He speaks to me, rages at me, he is me. The image is a creation of my past and is a mixture of all the emotions I have given witness to over the years.

You sit there like an anchor, weighing me down so that my feet are immobile. You cause me to contemplate my regrets and amplify the pain from my failures. This goes on until I realize how small you really are. You are a puddle, not a lake or an ocean. You are not the Mississippi, the Amazon, or the Nile. You are a personal anchor and thus…

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