I can't listen to this anymore.

There I was, in the middle of the pond, dawdling with the fires of my senses. The waters near my feet were cold; ever since I stepped inside this conundrum, I felt unworthy. The frog jumped away from my trembling fingers, unable to commune to the fact that I am fascinated with such being. It felt like as if I could do nothing more--nothing less, maybe. I fear that maybe the mud underneath my knees harbored my faintest dreams, that maybe the shadow of the elm tree casted every dark cloud above my head. Maybe, I was too childish to be playing in this grave. I was, insurmountably, a dot in the sky--a dot so dark I could not even comprehend what I looked like from the earth. I was a dot and it was too late to recognize that fact.