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 you 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.

.

.