Sometimes life is like one of those bank canisters at the bank drive-thu. It rolls beneath a customers car and is flattened as if it were a pancake. Bam. Badly damaged or completely demolished is out of our control.
Trying to figure out to turn left, merge right or get off the highway across the wide open fields of living. Which direction? Which exit?
If only I could take your hand and direct you to the right path with the rose colored future. I cannot. And it burns like an out of control wildfire ripping across the forest - toppling trees and crumbling habitats.
If only I could direct you to where flowers bloom, the sun shines and a cool breeze blows across the horizon. I cannot. I sit here helplessly as my worries for you grow taller than skyscrapers on the edge of a fault line ready to tumble.
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