untitled by marisol diaz

That callous reality sets in every day around 4pm.
She makes her living by constantly admonishing
my imagination.
Persistent in trying to rid you of my possibility.
I sit alone in the car, driving lost and entertaining my fabrications,
weaving one thread across the other.
Creating a whole world of fictitious opportunities when...I've come to a stop
and she comes striding in, slamming the passenger door with that
smug glower

Sometimes she looks like laughing children,
an unlocked chain on a door,
or a spinning wedding band,
other times she looks like my best friend.
Still she's there to cut the tether
The feelings are nothing but frustration and mockingly all self-imposed.
Ridiculous really for reality to interfere with what is not and
what will never be.
Still I'm hopeful that the world I create in my dreams one day,
somehow, have something,
a touch, a path, a response or a resonance to do with
my waking day.