archetypes are our fears given voices, given chances to bring us to tears without speaking to years left behind are you prepared to unwind the cables of string theory linking this life with continuous rewinds a year in the past keeps denying fears from becoming regrets a day in the life stands stronger among the rest pushing towards the best keeping idols on pedestals is no way to look them in the eye dreams become our benchmarks for understanding ways to become truly free through words, paralyzed by possibility comparing the best moments without ever having sight of the hurdles to be overcome dare we risk reaching our goals at the beginning of the end I can't imagine who else to be but in love with being on the mend 'he who does not weep does not see' spoken by the miserable ones to declare their desperation for clarity; though pain can be overcome we do not know what benefit we can offer to the greater good found in living, while in our time, many use the energy they contain demanding a breakthrough. falling deeper into the gravity of assurance keeps the strength I've summoned to be a greater force than foresight can predict the brevity of our experience cannot explain how our desiring can breathe new life through eyes of enlightenment through eager encouragement healing hurts and we are not told often enough because it aches to consider in moments of anguish how things could possibly get worse yet, many days of our life are spent knowing we've got it pretty good and no amount of gratitude can bring that happiness to light once it has been erased. kitsch-y desperation for understanding leads us to hunt value in discount bins and lonely breakdowns; exasperated from false passion learning to make the best of leftovers culture informs our lessons, relearning importance in lost generations always questioning why, why, why Do you ever truly know what you've got til it's gone? have you ever known a greater delight than standing in the light of a sun-soaked moon reflecting wisdom into the night determined to make everything right capsizing the halos on our dreams emboldening our life with changing seasons finding ways to live, ending our failure by remembering how to give more than is asked With that in mind, do we ever truly know home? except as reflections in nighttime windows and fleeting glimpses of memory when we are weak, caught in a loop idealizing the past clinging with a fierce grasp more tightly on the confusing past rather than receiving an open future with circumstances of our belief we understand motive to be meek yet pride haunts this daily churn, always finding ways to spend what we earn it may cost more than what you are paid, we're told to do it anyways. Keep doing it until the end of days. Get used to goodbyes they are evidence of ways we try. better still, get used to quiet it will always return each time with more wisdom and greater defeat with hazards of helplessness our obstacles during soulless fantasy do you ever really know what was meant to be or is that the greatest game we like to play?