musings

Too late. It was always too late. That feeling in the pit of 

your stomach when you've missed the train by 20 seconds 

despite running for the station as hard as you can, believing 

that if you exert enough force, run hard enough, just 

*believe* enough, you can make it. Only it's not the train you 

missed, but the last opportunity you had to make things right, 

to try and repair the gigantic fucking mess you made of your 

own life. When this chance to fix it was your driving force, 

even your main reason for continuing your existence against 

rapidly diminishing returns. The need for the situation to be 

something other than it is, is so acute that you start making 

decisions based on an imaginary relationship to a real 

situation. And when you finally make it to the platform to see 

the last of your hopes disappearing like a mirage, your breath 

knocked out of you as you start to choke. All the doubts you 

held, the denial, the anger, anguish. The fear. Kept balled 

into a knot in your stomach that is now unwinding and creeping 

up your neck to strangle you where you stand.