You’re waiting for a train.
You don’t know what the train looks like, or where it’s headed – but you’re convinced you’ll know it when you see it.
Other trains will pass the platform on which you stand. They come in all shapes and sizes and colors. Some advertise express service, others slow to allow alighting at every stop. But you are committed to staying here until you see the exact right one.
You understand there is no room for compromise because there is no other escape from this solitary platform. So the method of going will be your choice; yours and no one else’s.
Waiting is trying, in your moments of impatience and brilliance alike, searching for an out. But waiting is worthy; waiting is life itself, still.
You keep waiting.