I’ve never quit before
I’ve had lots of firsts that were never followed by seconds.
But every second there felt like a million years in the life of a mayfly.
A million seconds seemingly passing while I stood in the same spots, day by day.
Stationary. Stuck.
Watching the clock, listening for the click.
The door click that would signal the arrival.
The arrival of who?
Of a handsome face that pretended and accused and berated.
Of a public servant who served himself.
I flinch . . . but I walk. I drop keys. I slam doors.
I drive. I cry. I ask why I couldn’t keep up. I ask how I could be so careless. I ask why I wasn’t good enough. But I also smile.
Freedom and I laugh together.
My only regret is that I didn’t steal more pens.
