She reaches for the brass ring, a glittering thing, caught
in the corner of her eye as her bucking pony rides by and the ring is not
there.
These dreams we hold out for, hold on to, and yet can’t get
back once they are gone, haunting us like ghosts of lives we’ve imagined we
lived, but never did, the glittering ring we cling to only to see if vanish,
melting, like ice or something nice we can’t keep contained, this dream we
dream, this assumption we assume, this ever illusive thing we want but can’t
claim, her fingers stretched out, to hold, to own, yet it is gone, just a wisp,
each time we reach, each time we pass, always not there when we mistakenly
think it is.
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