I sludge one foot ahead and drag the other begrudgingly- forward I go.
I'm burdened by the task of "continue" or "persist."
Steps start to take what feels like hours, even days.
The point is long gone for something that's increasingly difficult yet trivial.
It reminds of the feeling I get when a summer breeze flows through the trees, yet passes me.
I embody it forcefully, because it is so.
It never forgets to pay me back tenfold for my expected resentment.
The allotment that troubles me the most is that I'm the only one who notices it's subtle arrival, much less it's speedy, although brief, exit.
I am the only one who holds the key to its presence.
It's nothing more than a fable tale to all who know not of it's existence.
It's unknown when or if the day will arrive; its final day.
I pray it may come soon, for the wait is excruciating.
