The weight of the world, the weight of a dream
Maybe it is the tension between longing and aloneness that I need.
It is the excitement I crave.
That point, where the opposing parties reconcile,
All my pasts blend together until I no longer know what has been and what I hope will be.
Or is that what we all do, all the time?
My own funicular railway, holding in balance the two things most likely to destroy me.
It is the excitement I crave.
The exhilaration of maybe, possibly, hopefully.
I need to know that perhaps it is written.
And I thought, for a second, that maybe, hopefully.
But every time a maybe is followed by a regret, the cost of possibility rises.
That point, where the opposing parties reconcile,
where a fight does not entail a goodbye and where a smile compensates for all the rest.
That is where my mind lingers. Be it real or not, I could not care less.
The heart writes its own story and it is rarely concerned with reality. Not mine.
All my pasts blend together until I no longer know what has been and what I hope will be.
Do I hope or do I pretend? Have I replaced dreams with fiction?
Can I create the place in which I wish I was and be happy there?
Does that free me? Is that wrong?
Or is that what we all do, all the time?
Close our eyes slightly, dream a little.
Et voilà.
Perhaps life is where imagination and action coexist?
Perhaps life is where imagination and action coexist?
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