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... waiting
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Early 20s Life has become little more than
A series of moments waiting for the next.
Immediately upon waking,
I find myself looking forward to the minute
That I can come back to my
All too familiarly uncomfortable bed
And return to sleep.
The rest of the day is spent in just that way:
Waiting for each moment,
To pass into the next.
For me, the creeds about living life in the moment,
Are just elusive expressions that I am sadly and painfully
Incapable of observing these days.
I spend every minute and hour ruminating
About anything the next minutes and hours may bring.
I constantly look at the clock,
As if I don’t already count every second that passes.
Even actions that have nothing to do with time
Display my constant waiting:
Between regularly checking email, my phone
And the endless streams of social medias
That have become all too significant in my life,
I’m always waiting for something to pop up.
I’m stuck in a cycle of waiting.
Eager to see what may come
but usually never does.
(Because if something were to show up,
I’d be done waiting, right?)
This frame of mind has guided me
Into an existence of permanent anxiety.
It is uncomfortable and incurable
I have no clue what I am waiting for,
But none-the-less, I wait…
Anxiously…
For something…
