Today’s not a good day for words.

I see myself flowing in stream that leads to the ocean, and not looking forward to associating with tuna, nor the herring. Apparently both are obligate shoalers that get agitated if separated from the group.

I understand their languages and their traditions, but now that I’ve left both groups it’s hard to fit back in. I rest in a corner with much apprehension.

If using mathematical terms I am a combination of them both, but not exclusive to either.

I feel strangely out of place, like my scales are too small for my body, or maybe I’ve outgrown them. Time feels like a foreign concept; it’s never right, I’m always too early or too late.  The ocean is vast, but I feel constrained – my chest is tight and it’s difficult to breathe.

Maybe I want to be a shark, but I was not born one, can future ever mold my identity into one? I roam around in its shadows, hope does not come. Or maybe it’s false hope I never intended to believe anyway.

I reference Godot again, but what is Godot? What is the Godot that I am waiting for? I fall asleep, and continue waiting in that corner.


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