Two Feet In Front

The night before it happened it was very cold. I sipped tea in the coffee shop and waited. Feigning impatience, I was thankful for the time to write. I had written many things to do. To better myself, to resuscitate, to communicate and create dialogues, etc. I had not been back long, but I knew that in this time I had procrastinated too much already. Not one task accomplished. After all the previous week’s discussions. Good intentions don’t mean a thing if not given substance with action. They start off as apparitions, dead already. I always seem satisfied with just this mere hollow manifestation. To (re)vivify takes effort. I had given very little to nothing; lazy, like my father who could not stand without holding my mother down. This gives me tremendous shame.

In my focus, I forgot why I was there and who I was waiting, and ultimately, writing this to do list for.