Paths

The marriage of your ambition and doubt builds a robust bridge to nowhere. Here on its narrow platform you stand: recounting the vacant vows of vacuity, shimmering with a black anxiety and weeping tears for your lost potential. You watch them falling, slow as marriage, to hit the aisle of the bridge like jealous confetti. With no hope of anyone to hold your hand along the zirconium ring of its daunting arches. But even the most burdened girder can suspend over frothing waters. And paths, made and mended from the smallest lot of soil. If only you would divorce your ambition from doubt and immerse yourself in the free-flowing streams.