I am a grape.  There's so little juice to create, that the ounce of liquid squeezed from me instantly firments and is sold for a buck, and... 

I am a willow.  I swing and sway and am eclectic...electric in my mood.  I hang low and refuse to look at my reflection in the pond that reveals my face, and...

I am a teardrop.  I am intricate and detailed, present in celebration and defeat.  I am collected into bottles and sit as a witness to the event in which I was created, but...

This is not enough.  This could never be enough.  Where is the style and substance?  Where are the rhetoricals and the directs?  Do I digress or merely end?  Do I continue or drop my pen?  In this moment a choice must be made--do they grow, shrink, or stay?  Does that one click seal their fate?

And you.  You!  What do I say?  I've mentioned you a million times before, and thus, I have received no greater understanding of your story or view.  You.  We are locked behind thick glass, staring at each other, but unable to touch.  Your eyes yearn for blindness.  You see.  You look at me with hallow eyes...glass eyes that only dwell in the land of Denial.  I look at you in desperation...bleeding for understanding, and you fail to give.   Pit for Pat...Swig and Swat...what is this?  We are two stepping it all, and I am falling.  You could do this forever, I believe.  One more chance for your reaction, before I make my final decision.  One more chance for your decision, because I must make an executive turn. 

And so it ends...

I am a word, spoken into being.  New letters are added as each year is welcomed, and soon, I will become a book.

Like a man who builds train tracks, I work tirelessly...tirelessly to reach my goal.  I run and run and run, because I need to run.  Running is the passion that I am inflicting on myself.  Running is another escape for me...for Rheeb...for us.  And we run together, away from it all...all of it...it all and all and all and oh...we breathe.  And this goal is simply a diversion, I admit.  By why not divert?  The main road has too much traffic, so why not drive on the shoulder for a while?  And this...this diversion can actually benefit me in the future.  But really--to speak as plainly as possible--my goal is to stare in that mirror...praising myself for my accomplishment and trying to find some semblance of worth in that self-said encouragement. 

Rheeb is tired of crying, so she wants to keep moving.  Rheeb is tired of searching, and now she's trying to find.