arronlock

I press on. Walking the shards of shattered dreams long passed. each sliver grazes my skin, reminding me of a life unrequited. In agony I press on,  ever seeking the one to reassure me that everything will be alright. Seeking refuge from the maelstrom subconscious, the mangled heaps of those before me come to focus. The smell of my failure, the taste of regret infiltrate my senses. At once I collapse. Still I must press on. The air burns my throat with each labored gasp. My vision poisoned by the sun. The mirage of success just in reach, I falter over my own defeat. My eyes clear, the clouds part. Then breath is stolen from me as the blow