My life is a story of déjà vu; I sit and review the timeline, the dots along the fading epoch share similarities within the clusters. I draw a line at the points of change and the clusters remain unaltered. No matter where I go; no matter who I am with, my reality is always the same; I wish I could remove the blight that is my hidden curse.   I can’t find my good fountain pen; my blood is losing its circulation. There are dilemmas on the menu, a feast for those who once hungered with ambition. Grinding my teeth in frustration from the disappointments in the room; these expectations gained are those opportunities lost.  So  many wanting so much for so little; history embedded within my skin.  The weather is getting colder but it doesn’t feel like December.