And the dream comes tumbling down like the rain during a thunderstorm,
the rocks crumbling from the cliff side.
And it dies here with me.
Or is it just sleeping; waiting for the right moment to peak its
head out from the shadows.
No one knows. And my feet must keep walking,
stumbling along this cluttered path.
We stand at a fork in the road, our backs touching. You
determined to set forth away from me.
Perhaps these two seemingly different paths will join up once again.
One can only hope. And dream.
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