You must wonder why I am relentless and all strung out.
I am consumed by the thrill of being something, I never thought I could be.
There is a push, a shove
That keeps you going up the hill
Even as it seems to just keep getting bigger.
I remind myself that it only appears that way.
The closer I get to being there
The further away everything—seems—to be.
I look back and my old life, shimmers like a far of distant memory.
I look ahead and the future draws me in like a smudged line on an old charcoal drawing;
Not quite there but not quite gone.
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