Desire functions as a bridge built of smoke.
It tethers the peace of the present.
To a future that remains a ghost.
A phantom limb itching for a touch it cannot feel.
The distance between the hand and the prize is the exact measure of the pain.
One seeks a crown but finds only the weight of the wanting.
The soul stretches until it snaps.
Leaving a hollow space where the breath used to be.
Ambition is the itch that creates the rash.
To crave is to cave.
Hollowing out the center to fill a shelf.
The hungry eye devours the heart.
Leaving the stomach full of glass.
A race toward a horizon that retreats at the speed of hope.
One wins the prize only to realize.
The gold is just cold lead with a tan.
#Stoicism #MainCharacterEnergy #suffering #philomeme
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