Just out of reach lies the decision. How far out? Don’t know. How near? Know even less. How aged the act of reaching? Don’t remember. But the need to grasp the decision? Indelibly etched in mind. Permanent. Prominent. Necessary.
Reasons once clear yet long forgotten spur on the reach. Countless days reaching with empty hand returning forgiven. Each day a new reach, fading memory sparing me from repetition’s pain. Yet the goal beckons. Still.
The day after success is my visual? No. The day that obviates reach is my inspiration. Is not journey the real and destination the false god? Or so we’re told. And sometimes even believe.Share