Today I sat in a waiting room full of broken souls.
The smell of loss and false hope and lies hanging in the air, a mix of mothballs, stale sweat and cheap beer. I sat in a waiting room painted in institutional shades of blue-grey, colors named after stones, color themes based after prisons and loneliness. I waited for an answer, waited for a solution.
I waited for them to sign me off as a lost cause.
After putting all my eggs into one pocket, I hoped no one would shoot me down, and wished on a dying star that the world would wait long enough for me to get a foot up before slamming back into full speed. After a night of what if's, the certainty of failure seemed almost preferable...almost.
But almost only cuts it in horseshoes, hand grenades and small nuclear warheads, someone once told me, and I need every bit of luck I can get. Drowning my sorrow in liquor, suffocating my hopes in fear, doing the things that I've needed to do for so long but I've put off until too late was ten minutes ago...sense seems so senseless now, and relationships are all relative.
As I shuffled back out into the sun, finally exhaling, feeling the cold melt off my skin I felt something close to hope. I waited, I'm waiting...