It's hard to pick up pieces of a broken dream. Even harder perhaps, to pawn them and buy some time...to dream once more.
The dream had been nurtured for a lifetime, now it lies shattered...each piece bleeding me.
As we plan, meticulously, to break it apart, piece by piece, I feel like a butcher; a butcher of my own dream.
Yet a part of me, the optimist , tells me it is not the end. The dream has just entered chrysalis, to maybe morph and relive once again on wings of fire.
Optimism gets me by, but optimism can hardly dry my tears...