Dreams are kryptonite sometimes.. a sort of cryptic message, which can only come from you. And yet, and yet, you’ve taught me every time never to believe you. It’s that illusion no one sees coming. It is the dawn. Is it the sunset? I’m not sure. My history with you is empty. My history with you is 1% of what it could have been. What I should have turned it into….
Alas.. I make it hard on myself. I scared you away. But like I said, dreams are cryptic. They are the kryptonite to something much bigger. My history is full. My history is empty. Like the pages of a book ready to be written, my history is a glass of wine, which intoxicated me before. Do I have the strength? I am no longer sure. What do I know?
I know I couldn’t sleep last night. Because of you. Because of this “history”. But what do I know? What do I seriously know?
The Teapot and the Postbox 
Love this ❤
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Thank you ♥️
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Cast your net into the sea that is forever teeming with fresh opportunities and dream of the success of lifting yourself from the sandbar you feel anchored to and sail towards the sun!
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Thank you, Paul. That sounds like a good idea.
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“My history is full. My history is empty. Like the pages of a book ready to be written, my history is a glass of wine, which intoxicated me before.”
I like this a lot… when I think about it as applied to my blogging or writing history, sometimes I think I want to forget about the glass of wine, sometimes I think I want to smash it, sometimes I think I want to drink from it again and make something new out of it. But then I worry that it will just taste like p*ss. ;))
Anyway, mysterious yet somehow relatable piece. :)) xoxo
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Yes, I can relate to what you describe. Thank you :)))
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