No End is Dead

I've walked through miles of hallways. The empty clip-clop of my shoes beats the air, and I wonder as I wander through a restless ether. I recall the things I've forgotten. Dreams, both of sleep and aspiration bubble slowly to the surface of my mind.

I stop at a corner and gaze out a window. The sun lightly teases the horizon as the watch on my wrist slowly ticks into the evening. Sunbeams paint the floor with a lost opportunity.

But I still walk in stride, and my feet push me to the exit. I've kept my dignity, though perhaps only to destroy it another day.

My feet push me faster; I quickly gain speed. I'm running at the speed of my mind. My footsteps seem to fall with every passing thought that enters my head. An assortment of anxiety assaults my conscience:

I didn't say a word. I didn't even stay. Did I blow it? Will it happen again? Will I return?

Thought after thought fires, as if my mind is a battlefield, as if I'm racing through no-man's land.

I missed my opportunity. I hit a dead end. I forgot to make the turn.

No battle can last forever, not even the ones in my head. I can still turn around at a dead end.

I just have to catch up.