How far is too far, or not far enough, and who gets to
choose, dressing you up, dressed to kill, how far do you go before you say “enough
is enough,” if ever, or is this what you always wanted, clutching it to your ample
chest with both hands, scared to lose what you’ve gotten the hard way, all the
time pondering how long you can keep it before someone takes it away, or age
wears you down, your grip less stiff than it ought to be?
How much further can you go to make people believe they
still need you, when you need it to go on and on, long beyond that time when
most others have given up? How far can you got before you can’t go there any
more, when other cease to want what you think you have, when all you want it
for it to go on forever, regardless of how far you have to go.
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