a new friend commented that my siblings hold impressive jobs. and proceeded to ask me, "if you had a choice, and no restrictions, what would you wanna be?"

i read the sms. and felt the weight of it.

the language of tragedy. struck a chord. a chord too close, struck too deep, too wide. blood erupted, poured, a swift burst, quickly nipped at the stem. a previously trampled root, exposed again, trampled again.

i am a dreamer. a pseudo-perfectionist.

i had my childhood dreams, teenage aspirations, young adult ambitions, but finally, adult realist planning is what is left. all else turns to naught.

i put on my glasses, natural perfection damaged.
i put on my glasses, i walk out to the world.
i will put on my glasses, my shield, protecting my turmoil, hiding that smile.
i will put on my glasses, my refuge, for it betrays me nothing.

but one day, some day, the titanium will be heavy. it will cut into my nose, digging deeper, grinding. all the way to the heart. oxygen, no more.
and when i remove my glasses, the invisible weight sets in, becomes even heavier.
and when i remove my glasses, i am nothing, still.
and when i remove my glasses, i remain heartbroken, disillusioned.

will i put on that pair of glasses?
i think...