Why fight it, the feeling of reversal, back pedaling? The absolute moment when one realizes they have stepped foot too far past the line drawn to pull back and hope the other contenders never noticed. The residue of insufficient dedication to a cause that up until that very second has been the very breath, the very life-sustaining element in the race for whatever door prize is up next.  You can wipe your hands on a clean cloth and still wish for steadier sanitizer. Most of the time, it seems, caprice hides in the shadows of a rainy evening, ducking in between doorways to avoid getting too wet.

Accusation is futile for catalytic investments need only venture onwards with invitation. Otherwise it remains out cold, waiting for the bus driver who just flipped the switch to “Out of Service.” But with a proper RSVP, it lingers and soaks in the background of every conversation to question motivations once alone. And we sit and we sit, and we lie to ourselves trying to come to a point in which we recognize allowing such a stupid thought leak in through our ears and eyes, our flesh like a sieve flowing in. Complete ineffectuality.

A simple lesson in discussion versus late night glances, chasing the overhead fan in circles.