flailing

We see the life we'd like to be ours, but refrain from reaching out for it. Hang our heads in their distraction, trying desperately to hold onto what we have... things that maybe would be traded, if we had enough faith to let them go. Splinters of a life left breaking.

But I can't see where this is going - drifting in its own way, on its own path, with me trailing and straining my eyes at the sight. Sometimes nowhere, at others everywhere, and I barely know what's in between. Emerge to both sides, and the edge of reason, which brushes up against the edges of many nameless things.

Waiting, and this is what finds me. This, in itself, is but a shadow of the course, but it's the only piece I can see. This is what I'm holding onto, as the rest falls away... everything is falling, and the ground trembles beneath me.