What happened to that dream?

For reasons I will never fully grasp I've let others come between me and my true path. What I've done these years does not define me yet this does.
I am words, I am pale fingers and bloodshot eyes. I am the things that I love and I am that pen I've left behind.
It hurts to know I've failed even though people say there's always time: I haven't been good to myself and that is not something one forgets about.
I guess it is not enough to say that you are something, you have to do it to make it come true. So this is me doing what I've always wanted to do.
Because there is nothing I would love more than to touch you with this whisper.





Juliet.