I’ve always had a problem with finishing things.
A little voice inside me always seems to get its way.
Maybe from the thought nestled in the back of my brain,
That I didn’t really do my best.
Or maybe from the fear of what comes next.
You cross the finish line,
It is almost as if you are within a video game,
Or a pawn on a chessboard.
You do your job,
You fulfill your goal,
And then you vanish.
Back to square one?
I think finishing things is hard for me because I have yet to come to terms with death.
I enjoy the journey.
The roads with no sight of the destination.
Taking steps is easy.
Standing still is hard.
It almost feels like the cure to wellness.
The hope that there is going to be something at the end of this road.
But once it’s in sight, hope becomes reality.
A life is faced with an ending.
And it scares me to death to see what that ending beholds.
Because with this life I float at the surface of,
I am too scared to bring it to an end.