I appear to not have matched pace
with the rest of the world.
Feet thumping like heavy rainfall,
bodies rushing around me
towards something - an end goal,
a vivid, visible finish line up ahead.

I'm shoved towards it
despite my heavy feet
chained down by a weight in my stomach
that lets out a muffled yell,
as if from underwater:
"Stay where you are!"

"I know," I tell the voice, "I know I'm supposed to,"
but it's drowned by the rain.
So I continue to be shoved around,
helpless,
as my stomach grows heavier
as the finish line dawns right before me.

I struggle with what little might I have to not cross the line
just yet.
I'm not ready.

My strength gives out and my left foot pushed forward,
followed by the rest of me.

It doesn't feel as bad as I thought it would,
to be where everyone else is:
past the finish line, into another new track
that would last another few hundred days
to finish.

The swarm of bodies are way ahead of me,
I notice,
and I sigh as I drag my feet
and the chains
and the weight.

Forward, forward,
knowing it was the only direction life granted us.