There it was, hovering by your head. You could reach out and grab it easily, or so you told yourself. Any time you wanted. It was practically yours and one day you would just pluck it out of the air. But you never did reach out, except that one time when you made a tentative, hesitant movement and then quickly turned it into a different gesture - nah, I was just brushing my hair. And there it bobbed silently, like a golden snitch. It is mine, practically so. Slowly it moved a little farther away, each day. And you didn't notice. Or wouldn't listen to the part of you that did. You kept insisting it was right there and all you had to do was take it. Really. Further and further away it went. And you went on saying that you possessed it - in all but name, really. Yet it kept moving away, kept getting harder to ignore the drift. And the farther it went, the more dearly you clung to the claim that it was nearby. Really. Not because you could no longer reach out for it, but because you didn't want to admit that you never would have.
Not really.
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