Glass dreams

I sometimes wonder if these paragraphs aren’t little more than a false landscape for curious strangers to stumble through. There’s really nothing here; nothing left to write about that I haven’t already written about a million different times. The words around my neck have become a noose, and like the stars, I feel ready to fall.

Maybe just one more time, I tell myself, and then never again. But not today, or tonight. Maybe tomorrow or sometime after that. Time always knows it has more of itself tucked away. Infinite chances to tell the world how I really feel, then and now, and maybe always will. As if forever is something anyone could understand.
Broken pieces of a mirror in my pocket, jostling and jingling as I walk. Reflecting the hidden places, where what matters is kept secret. Broken figments of who I always thought I’d be. I think no one knows, but some people do.

Life is a song I once knew that lost its chorus. It still rings in my head, the notes, the melodies, I just can’t recall what words come next. Emotions dripping from my fingertips like melting wax. I could leave this place and never look back, but words are easier than learning to fly.

It is probably just my life changing and being too afraid to sit in the bleachers and watch. Thoughts being kicked from goal to goal and myself there in the stands so obsessed with the outcome, but powerless. Knowing my dreams are made of glass, I open my eyes anyway, and listen to the sound as they shatter to the hardness below.