Reaching

A Story by sara

Finding yourself

All that is good helled out of my reach, I pull forward pushing my arm into the direction of what was left of me and who I was. With what little hope I had that my arm could extend to what I was reaching for…. I inched closer and closer but the pain was too much to handle, and I gave up flinching my hand away with a sence of great releif from the pain of my hands and the feeling a faliure. I sat there alone and miserable. I had one spark of determination left in me though and one extravagantly small spark of faith, but even though they were something told me try one last time. and for unknown reasons, i did. And as I made one last attempt to reach…myself. I lengthened my fingers and grasped it in my palm. It was here. I had it. I did it, but what had I done?

© 2010 sara

Author's Note

I have know clue why I wrote this trust me im not emotionally messed up or anything, but in this poem (sorry no it doesnt rhym) You arent physically touching "yourself" but you finally reach it and realize its not what you want in the end. I guess thats what its about :)