Blossoms

It's 2 AM on a "school night" and sleep fails me. Memories of who I once was and hoped to be fly through my mind like whisps of fog then dissipate. I only catch glimpses which lead simply to confusion instead of clarity. If I think really hard I can barely remember the girl who dared to dream. She would run though fields jumping over fences and chasing lizards. At least she did until that one day when her foot caught on the bottom barb wire and she crashed down chest first into a rock, left winded with just a lizard tail in her hand. Gasping for breath, watching the lizard run away merrily, half expecting it to turn around and taunt her. That girl, she is long gone. Time and experience have changed her. For the better or worse remains yet undetermined. What is known is that dreams that grew from childhood innocence still rest like fruit blossoms on a tree with roots that wind deep around her soul. Every so often she will see that tree and look at it with contempt. The tree is a reminder of what could have been; of things wanted and hoped for but never dared for. As she looks in the mirror she notices the lines across her face and watches a breeze pluck one of the few remaining blossoms and send it flying into the air. She is at the precipice of life. Standing there watching her bridges burn, the flames flickering around that tree of dreams...and she wonders...is it too late to chose a different path?