My wristwatch mocks me as it ticks loudly in my left ear. It's the only sound in the room. My eyes strain through the poorly lit emptiness in attempt to see the life I would have obtained had I gone down a different path.
The weeks will turn into years. That is what they told me. That is what has happened.
I didn't plan on this much of a break, but trying to go back is much harder than I thought. I like not having deadlines, take home work, and forced discussion on uninteresting topics. I like having money to be able to do the things I want and having time to read, write, and watch for fun.
But the ticking haunts me. Seconds turn to minutes; minutes to hours; hours to days; days to the timeline that won't slow down for me.
That swivel chair has me trapped by its whisper: you belong here, I will make life is easy and safe. I am not convinced, yet it keeps me where I've been for so long.
I see nothing but a blank wall through the darkness. Could that be a parallel for my life? A clean slate waiting to be filled with accomplishments and failures, bumps and bruises, love and heartache, life and death.
What would I see in the Mirror of Erised? The answer is one I will never know.
What should I do? The answer is unknown to me.
What is keeping me in a standstill? The answer is all too familiar.
What should be my next step? The answer lies with Him.
As much quiet as there is, I still haven't heard His voice. Or maybe I have chosen not to hear it. At this point, many things are uncertain.
My strife: feeling trapped in an endless cycle of apathy.
My solution: hearing the Word and following the Will.
My prayer: open ears to hear, strength to do, faith to endure.
Even after having said all of this, I still do not regret my choices. They have brought me to the place I am in today and I am so blessed and so thankful. This is just the time to make new choices and take new paths while hanging on to what He has given me. I wouldn't trade any of it to go back and start over, but I am truly looking forward to moving on with my life.
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