25, and still, stuck in a town I always said I'd leave.
Is this all there is for me?
Follow in the footsteps of my parents and just... Be?
Follow in the footsteps of my parents and just... Be?
Is this all I'm supposed to amount to?
A simple breath upon this earth?
A west wind so faint, no one feels its passing?
No songs, no prose, no monuments, or fanfare?
Just a voice that will fade along with the voices of many others who came before me; all the others who left no mark before me.
I am a line in the sand, trying to become a bay, a pool, even a puddle, before the tide comes back to eradicate everything that I've made, everything that I am.
But here I am struggling and fighting against the rising tides, the waves that will erase me from being.
But here I am struggling and fighting against the rising tides, the waves that will erase me from being.
Digging deeper and deeper, trying to peave a mark, a memory, a monument; anything except a tombstone and tears.
I am stuck.
I am stuck.
I am stuck trying to move, trying to create a semblance of SOMETHING, trying to touch as many lives as possible, trying to CREATE something that will REMEMBER.
25, and still, in a sea of faces, you wouldn't see me.
25, and still, in a sea of faces, you wouldn't see me.
