Some days, you arrive at the bar sheveled, a mess of thorns and distractions, some days you're a single focus laser from the moment you sit down. For a person who doesn't like a casino you sure will take the gamble every time.
Today, you arrived with your head lost to someone else's shoulders, forgotten on the 6 train heading north, every thought is drifting without arriving anywhere, and you have so many places you need to be arriving now. There are so many stops on your route, so many deliveries to be made. You haven't the time to dawdle.
It occurs to you that maybe not everyone lives their lives forever about to go somewhere else.
They read your manuscript and tell you there's something there. You wish you knew how to revel in that thought, because it looks delicious from afar. In the end, though, all there is is returning to the page, carrying on. This isn't the life you choose if you want to finish.
It's not the path if you ever want to think you are
done.
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