The anticipation of finishing the cigarette and writing is tactile. I know I'm not gonna get to where I wanna go, at least not soon, but still I can't help but dream of things that just might be beyond my reach. How I arrived at this space, I'm not sure though I could probably venture a guess. I guess my weight, and my ability to wait nearly a lifetime for the perfect oppurtunity. But each day I'm getting older and those oppurtunities are seeming less likely. Fates a bitch if you can't stomach being poor. I ran out of tenacity and ability about a year back and i don't know if I'll ever renew again. Hope though, I always hope, I just need to know that it is enough.
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