Possibility is a cruel thing.
It sits there, inside of you telling you that these things you so desperately want to be could be, but only if fortune decides to favour the naive.
Wanting something and knowing that it will never be hurts more than having it and it being taken away.

Everything I dream for myself, every wish ever made, will always be brighter than the reality.
Seeing the potential makes life hard when finding that elusive ideal is unachievable.

I sit here, with this longing inside of me.
Right now it is to be good enough, right now it is to be good enough for you.

I want life to sweep me off my feet just once.
I want you to sweep me off my feet.

I know this will never be.