Hating Time

Sitting in the corner of this office that’s neither warm nor cold. Not too dark, but doesn’t have a hint of light.

What a relief it would have been if giving up were a virtue.

I wasn’t chosen when I was more than what I am. And I wasn’t chosen when I was less.

If I’m strong through it, I’m walled. If I’m not, I’m soft. I’m neither my father nor the youngest child in the family. I am but a placeholder.

And I still go. To places I’ve never been and meet people who’ll never remember me again. Not in search of meaning or love, but because I can.

Some burdens never leave you, but there’s a cost to standing still that I’m not willing to pay, yet.