again and again. Hopes and dreams run through my fingers no matter how hard I try to hold them close in my cupped hand, feeling like circumstance and bad choices are thieves with balls big enough to walk in the noon day sun. I want to scream and pound my fist to the wall but I've been down that path before and it changes nothing. My heart and soul are instead commanded to be still, to wait, to be the rock the river flows round.

I want to cry till I'm empty but the tears won't come. I've dried them out in the lunacy of fear.