waiting for the crossing

I have been to this

place before,

only to turn and run

back to the comfort

of that which

is known;

not this time;

somehow I have to survive,

somehow I have to find a way,

or die here in the darkness

of a forgotten land;

apologies

will never be enough;

standing at the border,

waiting for the crossing,

is the hardest thing

in life you will ever

have to do;

behind is comfort

and that which you have

always known;

ahead, nothing

but sadness and pain;

but still you go,

even though

you wish

it were not

so.

.

.