I’m standing at the edge of it again.
No map.
No friendly voice saying, “This way, idiot.”
Just the hum of the road
and the feeling that something
is already moving beneath my feet.
People want certainty.
Deadlines. Plans. Clean little endings.
But the future doesn’t talk like that.
It pours another drink,
shrugs
and waits to see if you’ll stay in the chair.
So I sit here with it.
Watching the dark
like it’s about to introduce itself.
Maybe tomorrow it will.
Maybe it won’t.
Either way,
I’m still here.