why is it so hard for me
to admit that
all the things I hoped for
will no longer appear
like a camera's flash
take a photo of my life
I don't pose in any of them
I know that this is only
a frame sliding next to
the thickening photo album
thousands of frames to take
and only one to take a shot
I know I'm foolish
a whimsical dreamer
dying to know
how to possibly
carry on