I remember those days. The world was like my oyster and a wide-open hinterland to the depths that even Cousteau could not go. But, I was ready. The pearl lay ahead and it gleamed just like the light in my eye. Those days were filled with hope and Great Expectations were more than the words on a page but a promise that had been laid. Getting high meant just one more rung of the ladder left to climb. In those days, everything was done as a way to the golden egg.
These days remind me of how we are a slave to the grind. These days, my candle burns faster and my pearl has been translated into sand. The sand runs through my fingers and no matter how quickly or tightly I grasp, it escapes from the palm of my hand. In these days, I don’t long for those days. I long for the hope and anticipation held that would make these days the product of the dreams that were laid in those days.
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