No matter how hard she tries, the fruit still dangles before
her, out of reach, succulent, yet unattainable, despite all the old woman on
that cruise once taught her, time doing less to help her obtain it, partly
because she lacks what she’s had in the past – piles of warn out daily planners
testifying to her struggle. She always envied all those people who got escorted
to the front of the line, until later when she became one, having to claw her
way to get to the top, only to find nothing when she arrived, succulent fruit
more than a little sour, with no way to make it sweet again, looking back at
all those changed she’s had to endure, somehow thwarted by fate, luck or people
like me, until all that remains is the bitter after taste of spoiled wine.
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