And then people inadvertently remind you, yet again, of how many chances have come and gone. Then you sit, by yourself, enduring the pain of knowing how you’ve failed, how you’ve mistakenly prioritised, how you were such a weakling that when you reach out to touch your dream, it wavers, it is blurred, smoky with insufficient clarity to wake you up with a good jolt. Not that anything or anyone’s to blame. It’s just you, preoccupied with nothing, with emptiness and that airheadedness. With little things that you claim to love and hold dear because they make you laugh, they make you happy, but they pass your days too fast, so fast that you lose yourself in that purposeless void, and surface with nothing to show for yourself. Nothing but excuses and lies and shrouds to pretend you did all you can, when you didn’t; you just packed everything important into a bag and sat on it and cupped your face in your hands and smiled at everything else with big, wide eyes, like you didn’t have a conscience. You know, it’s like someone tossed you a golden key to your dreams, but all you did was toss it back and say, “Nahh, later.” But later’s come, and later isn’t kind, and later is staring you in the face, telling you, without a blink, that it’s too late, and golden keys come none too often.