It all means too much.
Boulders pile onto my shoulders.
It all means too little.
Boulders begin to roll down the mountain.
The choice is too hard,
And I can't make it.
What matters to me?
Money should mean something,
But dollars are just paper.
Love should mean something,
But the idea of soulmates has never appealed to me.
Boulders sit at the top of the mountain,
Empty boulders made of styrofoam.
What should I value?
Every time I make a choice,
It begins to weigh me down.
The boulders full of nothingness begin to float away like balloons.
Let them go,
And I shall value searching for them,
For what is truly valuable to me is finding something worth searching for,
Worth chasing after,
Worth fighting for.