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The tree

As a writer, I’m sure many of you live in your own head at times. Dreams of what could be, or stories. Conversations with your characters, on and on. More often than not for me it is an escape mechanism for the real world. My own personal life, but different.

I dream of a different life but feel deep down that it will never become reality. That no matter how fast and hard I chase my dreams, they get further and further away. When those realizations hit, I die a little each time until my soul feels consumed by reality. Sometimes there is no way out and you have no idea what to do next. Lost. Then the serene world that is in your thoughts mingles with life as it is and it crumbles in front of you.

Your private paradise, your escape disappears.

What do you do then?

Start over?

Facing the crushing realization that your dream slips further and further away as life, the reality of life, digs its claws in deeper and deeper each time you dare start again, what do you do?

You fight, even if you’re numb. Even if you can’t see a light at the end of the tunnel. Even when you are most definitely defeated. You fight.

You wrap your hands around that tree and climb. You’re weak and tired. The tree with all of the broken limbs that have sent you hurling to the ground. Walking away is the easy thing to do. You don’t really have to climb up to find that limb that opens a new world. You can stay on the ground. But if you ever want that dream you climb. You claw every¬†inch until your hands bleed.

One day, you’ll either find that limb or fall again. Each time you will face the same choice. Climb or walk.

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