I wrote a story about how I fell in a ditch. Each day, I’ve written chapters and as each chapter end, I do fear the feeling that the story will soon come to an end. How ironic it is that I fear rising up after falling. As the words unfold, I start to reconnect the stars in my galaxy and trace them into constellations of my own. At night, I lay back and find myself wandering and wondering about how foolish I was to act upon myself. I admit I do regret the chances I did not play right. Dreams come to life as if they were dust turning into sparks in the gloomy aura of the fading sunlight. I catch myself longing for a love I never had in the first place. My heart is empty but not blind for it sees and seeks what needs to be seen and sought. The growing worry like the raging waves of the sea has calmed down. Everything went back to normal and everything built has fallen.


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