Caught between listlessness and desire.
Knowing the hoped for ending still does not provide intuition for the moments between.
Bare minimum. Feeling the ease of sitting on bench, watching all else go by. Weighing that against the arduousness of action – the repeated clicks of heels to the pavement of labor.
Holding the intelligence of grasping that it isn’t the work that stops movement, nor the tenuous nature of walking confidently in the direction of dreams – instead, shame for the stillness winning out over all because of the assuredness of failures almost guaranteed along the way.
Sitting becomes the highly acceptable posture when the alternative is face planted in pavement, scabbed limbs showing evidence of the falls.
The shadows cover, yet the shade is welcome relief from the bare spotlight.
Energy is minimal. Thought is muted deafness. And there is not much else to speak of.
But speak – I will try. Waiting for the want to drive the posture to change.
Until sense makes itself known. And understanding follows. And bravery…bravery reveals.