This moment of stillness, dragged through the morning, becomes weary in the afternoon. My body hums, it wants to run. My mind grows petty and restless. A place calls to me. And suddenly, I'm motion, I have to find escape.
I force myself to stay still at times, be patient. My time will come, adventure will beckon. I turn impatiently to the stories, where everybody else is out there. Except for me. I grind my teeth and envy. I want to be out there right in the story. I want to be in that scene.
But I can't always be there. Sometimes it's not my place. There's a reason those stories are stories and not mine to embrace. Even if I can't wait for the next to come along. I go alone and spin my own yarn.
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