My dreams ran like sand through the fists that I made.
There they are.
Orbiting around me just out of reach.
I want to hold on.
But I have lost my hold on the things I want and love.
Circling around beyond my grasp.
Strange.
Distant.
Empty.
Translucent.
The sensation of being detached.
I realize I am losing myself as well.
My fears are pulling them away.
My dreams, my loves, my very soul.
At first, in a panic I struggled.
Lunging and grasping at air
I wanted it back, what fear had taken.
And so I fought.
Gathered every shred of what I had inside.
I reached out to reclaim myself.
To clutch tightly a piece of the life I had, in my hand.
To pull it back to my center.
If it had returned to it's place, the rest would have followed.
I would have conquered the fear that tried to conquer me.
Relaxing, I would have allowed my life to flow and ebb.
Around me, but in control.
But I failed.
Miserably.
In trying to get it back, I lost even more.
Doing what I thought was my will, I did theirs.
I watch it all fade out into the darkness.
I won't try again.
Let it happen, I don't care (but I do).
And so I sit.
Writing this pathetic missive of a failure that didn't have to be.