The Atlantic feels particularly wide today and time seems slow moving. I look in through the windows of bright little squares and cleaned lined texts, stealing glimpses into a world so far away. A world carried across the ocean through little bits of data and 1's and 0's. A world I can see but I cannot touch, and I long for the touch of the living-the touch of my home.
I am anxious when I think about what's next. My heart aches when I think of what was. Knowing I can't reach either right now, balancing precariously on the tip of a mountain that pulls me down it's sides. It's not the valleys I want, and so I stay here on my mountain top; straining for a view of the next peak, wondering if I can teach myself to fly while I wait to see what comes.
God, I hate the waiting.
It's day 345 on my little island of Today, and all I want is to leave it. But the waves are too big and I have no boat. There is no way to get to Tomorrow. Not that I even know where it is, or how to get there. So I turn my mind to the problems of Today, but my heart won't stop pondering the problems of Tomorrow. I think I'm rent in two and I'm sick of them both.
I feel so many things. I think so many things. And I'm tired from all of it. A quiet, but steady storm has settled beneath my soul and no words assuage it. It bears down silent and unabated, and I am simply not sure what to do. I ponder, I pray, but every course of action seems to lead me back down into the valleys, away from my mountain top. I cannot go to the valley and so I sit to wait out the storm.
God, I hate the waiting.
But I will wait.
Until the clouds clear
or I learn to fly.
Through Hell and high water,
I will wait.