Wandering I am, in search of the thing that escapes me the most.

She slips through the cracks and turns and eludes capture for quite awhile.

There I am, struggling to acquire what many find natural to come to them.

Perhaps, I am not meant for her. She is just too good for my own good. She is too difficult, stubborn mostly.

My eyes burn with fatigue, and my body aches for rest, but how must I do so?

How must I do so when I rob myself of the very thing I so dearly enjoy, yet struggle to flatter?

Please, friend, I can no longer muster to keep up this fruitless chase.

The chase that I always seemingly lose.