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I see visions of me.

Will they come to pass?

Will I succeed?

Will I be the man I see?

The one laughing with his wife and kids.

The one in love with his family.

You see, I see visions of this.

And yet, as time goes by

There is a definite blur,

Further enhanced by the conundrum

Of whom I may choose to love.

I feel fear creep up

A fear which suggests

Things may never actually occur.

These visions are of a successful man.

A happy man.

A hopeful man.

Can they truly be of me?

Perhaps they are of me.

An ephemeral me.

A fragmented me.

Yet, these visions I truly no longer believe.

Perhaps it's the fear

That my dreams may no longer come to pass

Which feeds the overriding sensation

Of wishing that things would happen at last.

Why am I burdened by these visions of me?

Can they truly be of me?

Or as I've said before Of an ephereal me.

I cannot,

However much I try

Peter out the sensation

That these visions will never really be.

They are nothing but a reflection

Of what I wish to be,

Hope to be.

Hoped to be.

Wished to be.

Curious how all this self doubt

Is borne of one simple question,

Curious how the blur in these visions

Stem from one simple question,

What exactly have I achieved?

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