are you ready for a free write... some prose perhaps
i will never be whole. no where close to being complete. the source is a tap to dried up and buried under years of breathless words to ever flow again. smiles slowly turn to frowns, expectations are quickly crushed through silence. i feel an inevitable change in me, a wind that is picking up speed to carry my feet somewhere else, where the air isnt scented with disillusionment. where the scene is set for someone else and ill never be the star, just a slow rising character that everyone loves to hate. that whisper still fills my ears and it grows heavier on my mind with each passing day. the thought that someone else holds tight to something i had, but never accepted. the idea that free expression and sarcasim will only lead me so far, because they arent shared or reciprocated. a defining moment in my life was realizing that, in the end, im alone. the entirity of me has be wasted, more than likely fruitlessly, save but for one small thing. one last glimspe that i will never see.. never again. i will hold it and let it guide me through the maze of my existance until that glimpse can be repeated by chance. yes, chance. perhaps someday by a mere crack in the pavement, a intertwining of ropes, a fallen tree branch. once that was could be again. like the glitter on my last dress, still shining in photographs so does this impression. but insight neither gives me reality nor completeness. only. disillusionment. so as i sit here, i exist, by i am not whole. nothing about my presence is complete. something buried under piles of dirty leaves will never stir again; the still frame of my person; empty.