Halfway to Somewhere

I forgot why I came outside—

but the breeze feels like enough.

I walk because I started to,

because sitting felt like too much

and stopping felt like giving up.

My thoughts trip over each other.

I meant to write something down—

something good,

something clever,

but the pen’s at home

and so is the focus.

The sun’s hitting the sidewalk like a spotlight

on a scene I haven’t scripted.

I don’t know my lines.

Don’t know the plot.

Just moving

like maybe it’ll come to me.

I’m not lost.

Just mid-thought,

mid-sentence,

mid-something I’ll remember later.

I am the paragraph between decisions.

I am the step between questions.

I am not lost.

Just not arrived.