Eyes on the Prize

If I keep looking at the horizon, then I’ll never see that dark side of things, right? Then I’ll always feel joy. I’ll be the wildest optimist living life’s adventure without regret. But it doesn’t feel real that way anymore. Reality should have pain in it. Reality should have hurt. There’s thorns in the jungle; there’s cliffs; and rock bottoms. But I’ve been casting all my worries within the orchid that slithers silently across the vineyard. Left untouched by the storm; unwounded by the fire ants. Self sustained by the polluted water that flows through it’s stamina.

I’ve been storing words and unresolved puzzles behind my lips that never seem to open during those days that end with ‘y’ or ‘why’.

And despite my sugar coated words, it has left a bitter taste.

I’ve been storing any sign of disdain or anger, underneath the surface of my eye lids, so that they are only real in my dreams. Or nightmares. And I wake up everyday, trying to find what is wrong with me. When I’m looking straight at the horizon, I'm blinded. I keep seeking the reasons for my absent mindedness and omnipresent emptiness, but never dare look at the dark side. Because if I keep looking at the horizon, I’ll always be happy.

I’m happy. I’m always happy.