This one feels like standing on the platform after the bag is down

Early

I thought impatience always meant wanting something to happen.

Movement. Resolution. Arrival.

But this isn’t that.

This impatience doesn’t push me forward.

It doesn’t pull me away.

It doesn’t even ask for relief.

It’s what happens when I arrive before the moment knows how to name itself.

There’s a version of impatience that comes from lack—

from hunger, from anxiety, from wanting the feeling to stop.

That kind of impatience makes noise and demands action.

This one doesn’t.

This one feels like standing on the platform after the bag is down

and realizing the train isn’t late—

I’m early.

Nothing is wrong.

Nothing needs fixing.

There’s just no instruction yet.

I keep expecting a reason to appear—

a task, a direction, a justification—

because for a long time, that’s how I proved I was alive.

By doing.

By deciding.

By becoming someone on demand.

But right now, there’s nothing to become.

And halfway into choosing to do nothing, I forget why I chose it.

The mind panics briefly, scanning for purpose,

until it remembers:

there wasn’t supposed to be one.

This isn’t emptiness.

It’s unassigned space.

Once the wrong chair, the wrong table, the wrong angle are gone,

the discomfort dissolves without explanation.

What remains isn’t a feeling that needs interpretation.

It’s simply being here without obligation.

This is what staying in a city until it matters actually means.

Not waiting for something to happen—

but allowing the need for something to happen to fall away.

I don’t need to force meaning.

I don’t need to convert time into output.

I don’t need to board a train just to prove I can move.

I can sit.

I can write without aim.

I can drink tea without ceremony.

I can let readiness exist without assignment.

Nothing is late.

Nothing is missing.

I am not stalled.

I am early enough to rest.

And that, for now, is enough.

WE&P by: EZorrillaMc.&Co.