And as I look up at the pathetic wall clock which would argue that I'm doubtlessly more pathetic if it could only talk, I am reduced once more to nothing but an inevitable groan of surrender to my debatably problematic predicament.
It has been weeks and weeks of waiting.
For what, you may ask?
Funny how the answer suddenly seems to be beyond my grasp; frustrating to realize that beyond my impatience lies the smug truth that I have no other choice but to be otherwise; and just downright fabulous that I have neither the slightest inkling nor idea as to what to do despite my relentless restlessness.
What now, again, you may ask?
And for once, I don't know. I don't know. Obstinate, I pause to rack my brain for options which proved to be endless- until now. I have laid out such a complicated blueprint that was to be my life and when life itself snatched it from my unsuspecting hands, I find myself at a complete loss.
True, the thought of possibilities is something which I can hold onto but at this point in time when the horizon can be both endless and empty, I come face to face with what it all boils down to: that I'm still a lost soul whose search is far from over. Which makes me wonder then if it really is ever over- for me, for you, for anybody for that matter.
What made me stop searching anyway? I don't remember. I don't believe it's still relevant but now that I'm right here where I am, I feel the old me who i've bound mercilessly with endless deadlines and details: the me who misses being a wanderer, the me who used to be so used to floating freely and aimlessly.
Realization starts to dawn and it breaks my heart that I have been parted from her for so long. But nevermind that.
I hurriedly look up at the clock again. It probably still thinks im pathetic but i've got a better idea from now on as to what to do with my time to actually bother to think about it.
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