Fabricated Reality?

Like a tattered leaf broken off its shaft, I’m tossed about by the wind as it wafts yawningly in what appears to be an aimless path. In this breeze depth of what we call life, I helplessly drift in its way. What have I but a diminished hope for the best, for refuting and struggling would only prove my worth and efforts futile. I should know better, all these wounds and hurts come no far from the stories of past lacerations.

There’s nothing more I fear than the fragility of my little frame. These wounds I claim in the fiber of my veins are hidden in desperation with smiles delivered ever so surreptitiously that it shows in the depth of my eyes. Hidden I think, but exposed like a flame in the wind I am.  Calloused from all these pain, I try, with these undeserving hands to construct a shelter from all these ravage. A little shelter, lacking its entirety, still I call it home. Perhaps, I can deceive myself for a little smile I hope to see in me.

Tossed around, this wind has failed me like a deceiving draft. With a little tumble and helpless fall, my frail and lacerated weight gravitates me to the cold and desolate land where all is gray and lacking. Of what security had I held on to before? Part of a rooted entity, towering and bolstering in sight, I’d never knew. I always thought I had something real. It has to be. Fabrication of my mind can only go so far, but this is beyond illusions of bliss. I could almost feel it within the grasps of my fingers. Those sleepless nights and tears that well from a heart of eternal reticence, I know it to be true. Could it ever be false? A little play of the heart, a little deception from my mind to offer and feed what I longed for?  

I’ve always feared letting anyone in. Exposed and vulnerable, like a fowl in the plains, I can only hope to be safe. Safe from what I fear most. Oh how it resonates from within me, an eternal torment of battle between hope and all that is lost. Maybe, I’d never know.

Here I am, a wandered mind, a tattered leaf in the midst of internal desolation where dust and debris surrounds in a torment of suspended animation. Can anything be real?

As I silently part my eyes, all I see is a little glimmer, a glistening of reflected light. Reality? Perhaps. Fabrication? Likely. A little glisten from a tear weld up in these eyes. A hope for what is lost, a gain for nothing here. How can one hold on to something only vaguely understood, only to miss what was never there.