Racing to the end.

Every day my shoulders get bumped and bashed around as I fight to get ahead of everyone else. I stare vacantly ahead, and people quickly scramble out of my way. I stare out like I am on a mission, like I can see nothing through my own tunnel vision. Little do they know that every step I take is calculated, every motion is planned. My timid apologizes are a cover for the rage inside of me for the misstep that was your fault. My body shudders with my anger because now I am one pace behind where I would have been. I now have to work harder to get ahead. I weave through the crowd like a string is pulling me through a maze. In my head I see it as a puzzle, shuffling quickly into the closing gaps. I move through the crowd in one fluid motion racing everyone else. Not letting myself take a break until I reach the end. I do this every day, twice a day, racing for a finish line that isn’t there.