The frustrations grip and pitch like a vise. The pressure builds and there’s a…void. It’s odd, this space. There’s force, you feel it, but it’s like you’re doomed to not care.
And you muddle through. Screw a smile on your face and play nice with others.
Still, pressure flairs ignite every so often, and you let people see a little glimpse of the angst.
There is no moving forward without sorting out the past.
There’s concern from friends, who tell you to give it more time, things will change. But you’ve been waiting for a good time already and slow and steady has lost its luster. So you think about a tumultuous and colossal shakeup that just might do the trick. Hit the big, red reset button.
But you look around at the responsibilities and remember that you’re tied to things. The creep of accountability squeezes the life out of daydreams, plots, plans.
You finger the packets in your hand, in line at the Post Office and wonder if you’re trading one situation for another. Where there’s still the current situation to explore, you’re told.
And it all circles back to frustration. And it mounts. And the heart grows ever so colder.