24 hour duty does not make for good writing.

So tired. So lonely. So tired of hoping for the impossible. Of longing for
the unattainable. Of denying the inevitable. Not tired of the subjects. Just
Weary. Drained from the effort. Of hurting so much. Of feeling so empty. My
arms holding the same dream. Rocked to sleep at night by the same ghost. I've
tried to see the big picture. And having now discerned something, have to
convince myself to let it go. Which is a whole lot tougher than I imagined.

Would you trade one dream for another? Could You? Is it fair to you? Is it
Necessary? Does one include the other? Preclude it? Disprove it. Show me how
one is possible with the other. Show me how to choose. Show me how either is
possible. It's never TOO hard. Someday it will be past time due to achieve one
or the other. But that's an age factor not one ever due to a lessened desire.
Tell me what you would do. When you feel your memories given life. Flesh under
your fingertips. A Heart not your own, but intimately recognizable beating in
your chest. When you see people. People holding the crux of your dreams in
their arms. And you can only watch. Wonder idly if with blood on your hands
and sin in your past if you could ever deserve something like that again. In
that one image, Two Dreams. Two Hopes. Two Impossibilities. One infinite
Sadness. Years of remorse. A lifetime's worth of regret. And from somewhere,
one innocent, naive hope. Never quite sure of the source. Some inexpressible
need to just. have. things. work. out. right. Even though more often than not
life shows us that the dice are loaded and the house always wins.

But somewhere there is a man. A man watching and waiting for the Moon. Staring out
over freshly fallen snow. Wrapping his arms around the pale orb in the sky and
keeping the boots of dirty cosmonauts off it. Watching, Waiting, Wondering.

Smoke and Mirrors.

I started my day off completely wrong trying to figure out what the fuck is hurting so much in my abs. Other than that, pretty messed up dreams. which is never fun.

He is reaching and reaching and never grasping what he wants.
He is holding his dreams in his hands, watching them slip through his fingers like sand.
He is watching them cut his hands to pieces like broken glass.
He isn't sure whether to hold on tighter or let go.
He wanders and wonders.
He thinks about Trust.
He thinks about Circles.
He dreams about the past, present, and future.
He sits and smokes and thinks about the "Big Picture"
He thinks about the ends of the many paths he sees ahead.
He sits alone, in silence, thinking of words and deeds.
He always wants to be someone's Hero.
But more often than not he remains the Monster.
He is tired. He is searching. He is closing his eyes. He is standing in the snow searching for the Moon.