Usually, I’m not one to offer support or even participate. Yet, I signed up to care about the same people that I’ve been too scared to care about. My offering: I’ll carry the weight of this world. Put the burden on my back, dear. My biggest fear: say, I’m not strong enough. Will I be ridiculed or forgotten of?
Is there such beauty in perfection or are my near-sighted eyes deceiving me? The hope I gained that life would change, that image now is crumbling.
Leaving footprints behind on the shores of time where everyone before me has walked the same path, where the waves break at the fault line. So, what’s the use in steadier footing if the ground beneath is splitting?
Conjuring up the will to feel like I can do enough. Blinded by LED lights. Is it too late to run to higher ground? I may not be a prophet but I refuse to let us drown. I just can’t seem to snap out of this point of view that doesn’t allow me to exist.
That’s the beauty of perception: it varies from mind to mind and changes over time. If hope seems gone at first, I’ll readjust the boundary lines.