I can almost see it, even as acrid bile sits on the back of my tongue.

A world so different from the one I am in.

Where I was never sick to begin with.

Given the easy road instead of this intolerable trial.

How wonderfully boring that must be.

Searching for struggle outside of survival.

***

I fear that the eyes I see it all through are not my own however.

My path separated from that vision a long time ago.

Tracing the cracks left behind in my being like the grain on the rings on a tree.

If I erased it all, my character would cease to be.

Up in smoke and ash along with the appreciation of the struggle.

I wish the process of healing involved something other than flame.

***

Instead of setting fire to my past, I torch the present.

I would rather struggle for a future that has not happened yet.

Ignoring these visions of what might have been.

So I pluck out my eyes.

All so I can focus on what is possible to change as I am.

So I can continue to say that I can almost see it.